I/. 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 


[See  p.  165 

YOU'LL      BE      PROTECTED      EVERY      MOMENT.          I      WILL      SEND 
YOU      ONE      OF      THESE      LITTLE      DETECTAPHONES  " 


BY 

ARTHUR  HORNBLOW 

FOUNDED  ON  THE  PLAY 

BY  HARRIET  FORD  AND 

HARVEY  j.   O'HIGGINS 


WRITTEN  IN  COOPERATION  WITH 

DETECTIVE  WILLIAM  J.  BURNS 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 

NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

MCMXIII 


PUBLISHED   SEPTEMBER.    1913 


H-N 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"YOU'LL  BE   PROTECTED  EVERY  MOMENT,     i  WILL  SEND 

YOU   ONE   OF   THESE    LITTLE   DETECTAPHONES"       .      .      .     Frontispiece 

"HERE  ARE  HER  EIGHT  FINGER-PRINTS.  GET  BUSY,  JOE! 
SEE  IF  YOU  CAN  GET  THE  THUMBS  UNDER  THE  EDGE 
THERE" Facing  p.  70 

"JUST  LAY  YOUR  FINGERS  FLATLY  ON  THIS  BLANK  PIECE 

OF  PAPER  AND  PRESS  ON  IT" "  112 

THE  DETECTAPHONE  INSTALLED  IN  THE  COUNTERFEITERS* 

DEN "  ISO 

"GOOD- BY,"  SHE  WENT  ON,  HER  VOICE    BROKEN  BY  WEEPING        "         246 


2136143 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 


CHAPTER  I 

'1VTO  sir,  not  a  cent!  I  warned  you  that  I'd  have 
1  ^  nothing  to  do  with  you  if  you  disobeyed  me. 
In  spite  of  all  I  said  you  have  deliberately  defied 
me  by  marrying  the  girl.  You  must  take  the  con- 
sequences. I  disown  you.  You'll  never  get  a  penny 
of  my  money." 

John  Argyle,  his  face  purple  with  rage,  his  white 
hair  and  carefully  trimmed  whiskers  bristling  with 
anger,  paced  up  and  down  the  library  of  his  palatial 
Fifth  Avenue  home,  while  a  young  man,  barely  in 
his  twenties,  his  face  pale  but  with  lines  of  deter- 
mination about  his  smooth,  sensitive  mouth,  stood 
by  and  listened. 

The  winter  afternoon  was  drawing  to  a  close,  and 
the  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  streaming  through  the 
stained-glass  windows,  bathed  the  artistic  interior  in 
a  glow  of  rich,  warm  color.  It  was  a  picturesque 
room,  tastefully  furnished,  with  Pompeiian  red  the 
dominant  note.  The  walls  were  all  lined  with  books, 
the  shelves  and  rest  of  the  woodwork  of  black  flem- 
ish oak,  and  the  chairs  of  the  same  wood,  uphol- 

i 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

stered  in  a  red  leather.  Between  the  shelves,  filled 
with  handsomely  bound  tomes,  was  a  door  which 
led  to  the  hall.  On  the  other  side  the  books  ex- 
tended as  far  as  a  deep  bay,  opposite  which  was  a 
large  fireplace  with  dull-brass  candelabra  on  the 
mantel  and  huge  pine  logs  throwing  out  a  grateful 
heat.  In  a  cozy,  well-lighted  niche  was  a  mag- 
nificently carved  teakwood  table,  with  telephone 
and  nouveau  art  reading-lamp.  On  the  opposite 
side  another  table  was  covered  with  a  fabric  so 
exquisite  and  costly  that  it  might  well  have  graced 
the  collection  of  some  connoisseur.  On  it  was  a 
confused  litter  of  books,  newspapers,  and  cigar- 
boxes.  Several  large,  comfortable  arm-chairs  were 
scattered  about,  and  on  the  floor  one  trod  on  a  large, 
richly  woven  silk  rug  of  a  shade  to  harmonize  with 
the  general  color  scheme  of  the  room.  Conspicuous 
over  the  door  was  a  large  framed  portrait  of  John 
Argyle.  A  truly  beautiful  room,  conducive  to  rev- 
erie or  study;  but  to-day  its  only  occupants  were 
too  much  excited  to  take  particular  heed  of  their 
surroundings. 

The  situation  was  tense.  A  spark  at  any  moment 
might  bring  about  an  explosion.  There  was  a  dif- 
ference of  forty  years  and  more  between  the  two 
men,  and  it  needed  only  a  glance  to  see  that  they 
were  father  and  son.  When  the  elder  had  ceased 
his  choleric  tirade  and  relapsed  into  a  sulky  silence, 
interrupted  only  at  intervals  by  a  series  of  angry 
snorts  that  sounded  like  petty  explosions,  the 
younger  man  said,  respectfully: 

"I  don't  ask  you  for  money.  I  merely  asked  for 
what  is  mine.  If  I  could  get  now  some  of  the  money 

2 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

my  grandfather  left  me,  it  would  help  me  to  get  a 
start  in  life.  It  is  hard  that  I  should  have  to  wait 
until  I'm  thirty.  I  don't  suppose  I'll  ever  be  able 
to  earn  enough  with  my  art  work.  I  intend  to  give 
up  my  studio.  I  want  to  go  into  business.  I  have 
an  opportunity  to  buy  a  small  interest  in  a  Detroit 
automobile  plant.  They  offer  me  a  salaried  position 
if  I  can  furnish  a  little  capital  which  will  be  amply 
secured.  I  have  investigated  the  thing,  and  I'm 
anxious  to  get  into  it.  I  shall  only  be  too  glad  to 
get  away  from  New  York."  Bitterly  he  added: 
"Incidentally,  it  will  relieve  you  of  my  unwelcome 
presence  in  this  house." 

The  elder  man  had  continued  pacing  the  floor  like 
an  infuriated  lion,  apparently  paying  not  the  slight- 
est attention  to  what  his  son  was  saying.  The 
young  man's  closing  sentence,  however,  had  the  un- 
fortunate effect  of  adding  fresh  fuel  to  the  already 
raging  fire.  Stopping  short  and  turning  quickly,  he 
shook  his  clenched  fist  in  his  son's  face  and  thun- 
dered: 

"If  you  are  no  longer  persona  grata  under  this  roof, 
whose  is  the  fault?  You  have  no  one  to  blame  but 
yourself.  How  have  you  repaid  all  I  have  done  for 
you?  I  gave  you  every  advantage.  You've  had  a 
good  education,  a  luxurious  home,  everything  you 
could  wish  for.  What  return  did  you  make  for  all 
this  ?  You  have  taken  pleasure — yes,  sir,  deliberate 
pleasure,  in  thwarting  me  at  every  turn.  I  asked 
only  one  thing — you  knew  well  that  my  heart  was 
set  on  it.  It  was  the  dearest,  most  cherished  wish 
of  my  life.  For  twenty  years,  while  you  and  Mary 
have  been  growing  up  side  by  side,  it  was  my  fondest 

3 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

hope  that  you  would  one  day  marry.  Instead  of 
sympathizing  with  these  plans,  you  have  deliberately 
scorned  them  and  set  me  at  defiance  by  contracting 
a  secret  marriage." 

Bruce  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  he  replied,  calmly: 
"You  asked  the  impossible.  You  wanted  me  to 
marry  Mary,  but  it  was  too  late  even  had  I  loved  her. 
My  word  was  already  given  to  another.  Would  you 
have  had  me  throw  Nan  unceremoniously  overboard 
just  to  further  my  own  selfish  ends?  Besides,  Mary 
has  never  cared  enough  for  me  to  marry  me.  We've 
been  brother  and  sister — nothing  more..  The  idea  of 
anything  else  never  entered  my  head  or  hers.  She 
has  known  all  along  how  fond  I  am  of  Nan.  When 
you  first  suggested  the  matter  Nan  and  I  were  al- 
ready engaged.  Surely  you  wouldn't  have  had  your 
son  play  the  part  of  a  welsher." 

The  argument  was  unanswerable,  and  Argyle,  Sr., 
knew  it,  but  all  his  life  he  had  been  accustomed  to 
make  laws  for  others,  never  to  have  them  laid  down 
for  himself.  What  cared  he  about  sentimental  boy 
and  girl  promises  when  his  heart  had  been  set  on 
seeing  his  only  son  marry  the  orphan  of  his  old  com- 
rade, a  girl  he  had  adopted  as  his  daughter?  When 
poor  Masuret,  deserted  by  his  faithless  wife,  died 
some  fifteen  years  ago  and  left  little  Mary  in  his 
care,  he  had  promised  him  that  one  day  she  should 
marry  Bruce.  That  anything  else  could  happen 
had  never  entered  his  head.  The  idea  that  young 
folks  should  take  their  future  into  their  own  hands 
and  arrange  it  to  suit  themselves  was  rank  rebellion, 
deserving  of  fitting  punishment.  Unable  to  find 
words,  he  merely  spluttered: 

4 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"Love  fiddlesticks!  That's  all  moonshine !  Mar- 
riage is  based  on  something  more  substantial.  You'll 
rue  it.  I'll  teach  you  a  lesson  that  you'll  remember. 
Had  you  behaved  yourself  you  would  have  succeeded 
me  one  day  as  head  of  Argyle  &  Co.  Your  con- 
duct convinces  me  that  you  are  not  fit  for  any 
position  of  responsibility  and  trust.  A  firm  of  the 
importance  of  ours  requires  at  its  head  a  man  of 
tact,  intelligence,  and  sound  judgment.  These 
qualities  you  do  not  possess,  and  never  will.  You're 
a  fool  to  your  own  interests,  and  always  will  be.  I'm 
done  with  you.  As  you've  made  your  bed,  so  you 
can  lie  on  it.  I'll  give  you  a  small  allowance  to 
keep  you  from  starving,  but  that's  all  you'll  get. 
I'm  going  to  telephone  to  my  lawyer  right  now. 
Mr.  Hurley  will  come  here  to-day  and  draw  up  a  new 
will  leaving  everything  to  Mary." 

All  his  life  Mr.  Argyle  had  acted  on  impulse.  He 
always  attributed  his  success  to  the  fact  that  once 
he  made  up  his  mind  he  stuck  to  it,  right  or  wrong. 
Crossing  quickly  to  the  desk,  he  picked  up  the  re- 
ceiver: 

"Give  me  John  3486."  While  waiting  for  the 
number  he  glared  at  the  young  man,  as  if  expecting 
him  to  make  some  protest;  but  Bruce,  although 
a  shade  paler,  remained  calm. 

"Very  well,  sir,"  he  said,  "you  know  best.  No 
doubt  Mary  will  make  better  use  of  it  than  I.  I'm 
sorry  I've  offended  you.  I  did  not  do  it  to  annoy 
you,  although  you  seem  to  think  so.  That  is  absurd. 
I  married  Nan  because  I  loved  her.  Mary  never 
cared  for  me  in  that  way." 

"Sentimental  rubbish!"  grunted  the  merchant, 

5 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

who  in  his  forty  odd  years  of  money-grubbing  had 
forgotten  that  romance  and  sentiment  ruled  the 
world.  "Mary's  too  sensible  a  girl  not  to  have 
accepted  you,  if  you'd  treated  her  right." 

The  telephone  buzzed.  The  old  gentleman  turned 
to  the  transmitter. 

"Hello — is  that  you,  Hurley?  This  is  Argyle — 
yes — I'm  here  at  the  house.  I'd  like  you  to  come 
up  to  see  me  regarding  a  little  business  matter — 
about  drawing  a  will.  Yes — a  new  one.  Oh,  any 
time  will  suit  me — this  evening  or  afternoon.  All 
right;  make  it  this  afternoon.  I'll  wait  in  for  you. 
Good-by."  Turning  again  to  the  young  man,  he 
went  on  testily:  "Mary  knew  my  wishes,  and  she 
would  have  respected  them.  But  she  saw  your  in- 
fatuation for  that  girl,  and  could  do  nothing — ' 

The  young  man  shook  his  head. 

"You  are  mistaken,  father.  You  think  you  can 
manage  affairs  of  the  heart  as  you  are  accustomed  to 
manage  affairs  of  finance.  It  can't  be  done,  and 
bigger  men  than  you  have  failed.  I  don't  blame 
you  for  getting  angry  at  me."  Bitterly  he  added: 
"We  never  got  along  any  too  well — you  are  never 
satisfied,  always  expecting  the  impossible.  This  has 
never  been  a  home  to  me  since  poor  mother  died. 
I'll  be  glad  to  get  away." 

Argyle,  Sr.,  eyed  his  son  narrowly  and  distrust- 
fully. They  had  never  been  friends.  By  nature 
cold  and  reserved,  his  attitude  to  his  son  had  been 
that  of  a  stern,  exacting  master  who  must  be  obeyed 
implicitly,  no  matter  how  preposterous  the  command. 
By  nature  a  martinet  and  strict  disciplinarian,  im- 
patient, intolerant  of  argument,  accustomed  to  rule 

6 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

and  to  be  obeyed  without  question,  he  had  resented 
his  son's  independence  of  spirit,  and  interpreted  it 
rightly  or  wrongly  as  wilful  defiance  of  his  wishes  and 
orders.  There  were  times  when  he  had  wished 
things  might  be  otherwise,  when  he  could  have 
clasped  his  son  to  his  bosom  and  taken  pride  in 
planning  out  his  future,  but  this  last  disobedience 
he  could  not  forgive.  It  was  unpardonable.  It  had 
completely  shattered  the  one  illusion  he  had  left. 
If  a  shred  of  emotion  had  been  excited  in  his  breast 
at  the  mention  of  his  dead  wife,  he  managed  to  con- 
ceal it.  His  voice  was  hard  and  unyielding  as  ever 
as  he  asked: 

"Where  are  you  going?" 

"I  told  you — out  West." 

"You  have  no  means." 

"No — that's  why  I  came  to  you." 

The  old  man  shook  his  head. 

"No,  sir — not  a  cent.  I  couldn't  if  I  would.  That 
money  is  tied  up  until  you  reach  the  age  of  thirty. 
You  are  now  only  twenty-four.  For  six  years  to 
come  you  must  either  be  satisfied  to  live  under  this 
roof  or  earn  a  living  outside." 

The  boy's  face  flushed.     With  spirit  he  replied: 

"Then  I'll  go  out  and  earn  it.  I  don't  know  at 
what.  Like  most  rich  men's  sons,  I'm  not  good  for 
much.  I  don't  know  how  to  work,  because  I  was 
never  taught.  But  I'll  get  along  somehow.  I'll  do 
anything  as  long  as  it's  decent." 

For  a  moment  the  old  gentleman  looked  at  his 
son,  and  there  was  a  look  in  his  face  as  if  he  rather 
admired  the  boy's  pluck.  He  made  a  gesture  as  if 
about  to  take  him  to  his  arms.  But  if  he  felt  any 

7 


such  inclination  the  mood  quickly  passed.  The  boy 
had  deliberately  disobeyed  him,  made  a  mesalliance. 
He  was  hurt  in  his  pride.  That  he  could  never  for- 
give. Coldly  he  replied: 

"You  must  get  along  as  best  you  can — I  shall 
never  forgive  you." 

The  young  man  turned  to  go. 

"Very  well — if  I  go  to  the  devil — it  will  be  on 
your  conscience.  You're  very  hard  and  unjust,  and 
in  your  heart  you  know  it." 

The  old  man  bounded.     Wrathfully  he  retorted: 

"I  know  nothing  of  the  kind.  You  alone  are  to 
blame.  You've  wilfully  disobeyed  me  in  this  case, 
as  in  many  others.  You  have  never  done  anything 
I  wanted  you  to.  And  now  you've  disgraced  me  by 
marrying  a  girl  without  social  position  and  of  whose 
people  we  know  nothing — a  disgraceful,  degrading 
marriage  I  call  it,  and  of  which  one  day  you  yourself 
will  be  heartily  ashamed." 

Until  now  the  young  man's  attitude  had  been 
deferential,  his  manner  that  of  a  son  who,  no  matter 
how  he  may  differ  with  his  father,  feels  in  duty  bound 
to  listen  respectfully  to  all  he  has  to  say.  But  when 
his  parent  so  forgot  himself  as  to  attack  the  honor 
of  the  girl  he  loved,  no  filial  consideration  could  longer 
restrain  him.  His  face  flushing  with  indignation,  he 
burst  out  hotly: 

"That's  a  lie!  My  wife  is  as  good  as  we  are, 
every  bit!  Her  folks  may  not  have  as  much  money 
as  you  have,  but  at  least  what  they  have  they  came 
by  honestly,  which  is  more  than  some  of  us  can  say. 
Is  your  money  all  as  clean  as  it  might  be?" 

The  question  came  direct  and  with  all  the  force 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

of  a  blow.  To  Argyle,  Sr.,  it  struck  home  like  a 
thrust.  He  tried  to  answer,  but  his  voice  failed  him. 
Speechless  with  rage,  he  could  only  gasp  in  his  efforts 
to  utter  the  words  of  wrath  that  would  not  come. 
Who  better  than  he  knew  that  his  record  would  hard- 
ly bear  inspection? 

John  Argyle  had  always  been  a  firm  believer  in 
the  dictum:  "Get  money  honestly  if  you  can,  but 
get  it."  Having  found  the  task  of  accumulating  a 
fortune  honestly  a  difficult  job,  he  changed  his  tactics 
and  got  rich  as  best  he  could.  Starting  life  as  a 
promoter,  he  picked  up  considerable  money  in  shady 
real-estate  deals.  Branching  out,  he  financed  under- 
takings of  various  sorts,  and  was  soon  reputed  very 
wealthy,  and  looked  up  to  as  one  of  the  prominent 
men  of  the  community.  Later,  he  bought  several 
thousand  acres  of  cheap  farm-land  near  a  prosperous 
town  and  cleverly  engineered  a  land  boom.  He 
bought  a  street-railway  and  bribed  the  city  au- 
thorities to  allow  him  to  extend  the  lines  where  he 
would  most  profit  by  them,  so  that  he  had  controlled 
even  the  natural  growth  of  the  city  for  his  own  advan- 
tages. Yet  while  he  had  succeeded  in  escaping  any- 
thing more  serious  than  popular  condemnation  for  his 
part  in  corrupting  the  city  government  and  looting 
the  street-railway,  the  firm  of  John  Argyle,  Private 
Bankers,  was  considered  one  of  the  most  prosperous 
and  substantial  financial  institutions  in  the  city. 
There  were  times,  however,  like  the  present  when 
he  was  brutally  reminded  of  the  source  of  his  money, 
and  it  never  failed  to  infuriate  him. 

The  banker's  face  became  purple.  The  rush  of 
blood  to  his  head  made  his  veins  stand  out  like  whip- 

2  9 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

cord.  He  tried  to  speak,  but  the  words  stuck  in 
his  throat.  Speechless,  his  mouth  trying  to  splutter 
words  that  he  could  not  articulate,  he  advanced 
threateningly  on  his  rebellious  offspring.  At  last, 
with  an  effort,  he  regained  his  speech.  Wrathfully 
he  exploded: 

"Don't  dare  give  me  the  lie,  sir — don't  dare  give 
me  the  lie!  Or  I'll  have  you  booted  out  of  the  house 
by  my  butler.  Don't  let  me  have  any  of  your  in- 
solence. I've  had  about  enough  from  you  to-day. 
Get  out  of  here — get  out,  I  say!" 

His  face  livid,  scarcely  able  to  articulate  from  pent- 
up,  ungovernable,  unreasoning  passion,  he  advanced 
toward  his  son,  his  hand  clenched  in  threatening 
gesture,  when  suddenly  the  door  opened  and  a  young 
girl  appeared  on  the  threshold. 


CHAPTER  II 

FOR  a  moment  she  stood  irresolute,  as  if  uncer- 
tain whether  to  enter  the  room,  afraid  that  she 
might  be  intruding  on  some  private  tete-a-tete.  She 
did  not  seem  surprised  to  find  the  two  men  quarrel- 
ing; but  a  look  of  distress  came  over  her  face  as  her 
quick  glance  went  from  father  to  son,  and  she 
noticed  the  elder  man's  angry  demeanor.  Some- 
what ashamed  that  his  ward  should  witness  his  ex- 
hibition of  temper,  Mr.  Argyle  said,  hastily: 

"Come  in,  Mary  dear.  Are  you  looking  for  me?" 
For  the  time  being  the  tempest  was  over.  Bruce 
gave  the  new-comer  a  nod  of  welcome  and  shrugged 
his  shoulders  significantly  while  Mr.  Argyle,  now 
that  his  favorite  had  appeared  on  the  scene,  changed 
his  mood  completely.  The  hard,  stern  features  re- 
laxed; his  face  broke  into  a  smile.  At  a  glance  it 
was  easy  to  see  that  this  young  girl,  comparatively 
a  stranger  in  his  household,  had  done  what  his  own 
flesh  and  blood  had  never  succeeded  in  doing.  She 
had  won  her  way  into  the  heart  of  this  eccentric, 
querulous  old  man. 

It  had  not  been  an  easy  task,  but  Mary  Masuret 
was  no  ordinary  girl.  Fair  and  slender,  she  barely 
looked  her  twenty  years,  although  the  serious, 
thoughtful  expression  of  her  face  in  repose  made  her 
at  times  appear  older.  Regular,  almost  classic  fea- 

ii 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

tures,  soulful,  innocent-looking  eyes,  and  a  sensitive 
mouth,  delicately  chiseled,  imparted  a  spiritual  look 
to  her  face.  She  was  not  one  of  those  modern,  so- 
phisticated women  whose  voluptuous  charms  and 
easy  morals  seldom  fail  to  attract  men.  Rather  was 
she  one  of  those  old-fashioned,  timid,  shrinking  natures 
who,  by  a  strange  contradiction,  make  a  strong  appeal 
even  with  men  who  have  few  illusions  left  regarding 
the  romantic  side  of  life. 

So  long  had  she  been  an  inmate  of  John  Argyle's 
home  that  she  had  almost  forgotten  that  she  had 
known  any  other.  Only  on  rare  occasions  when  her 
adopted  father  alluded  to  the  tragedy  of  her  child- 
hood did  she  realize  that  she  was  not  really  of  his 
blood.  It  was  a  sad  story,  and  one  that  she  pre- 
ferred to  forget.  Mr.  Argyle  and  her  father  had 
been  friends  from  boyhood.  Unlike  most  men's 
early  friendships  that  die  out  as  each  goes  his  way 
in  life,  this  friendship  had  lasted.  It  was,  indeed, 
the  one  redeeming  feature  in  the  life  of  John  Argyle, 
a  hard  and  not  too  scrupulous  business  man,  that 
he  had  always  felt  a  warm  place  in  his  heart  for  the 
old  friend  who  had  shared  with  him  the  uncer- 
tainties and  trials  of  his  early  manhood.  The  Civil 
War  broke  out,  and  both  were  drafted  to  the  same 
regiment,  which  saw  real  fighting  at  Vicksburg  and 
Shenandoah.  Together  they  shared  the  hardships 
and  dangers  of  the  long  campaign  until  on  the  con- 
clusion of  peace  each  resumed  mercantile  pursuits 
with  varying  success.  Argyle  married  and  pros- 
pered. Masuret  also  made  a  venture  in  the  matri- 
monial market,  but  with  less  success.  His  wife, 
after  giving  birth  to  a  daughter,  left  him,  to  run  away 

12 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

with  another  man;  and  Masuret,  deserted,  died  an 
embittered,  miserable  man.  On  his  death-bed  he 
sent  for  Argyle  and  confided  to  his  old  comrade  his 
little  daughter.  That  was  how  Mary  became  a 
member  of  the  Argyle  household. 

The  banker  advanced  toward  the  young  girl  and, 
taking  her  hand  in  his,  patted  it  caressingly: 

"Do  you  want  me,  dear?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  dad.  I've  been  looking  for  you  everywhere. 
I  heard  your  voices  in  here.  There's  a  man  down- 
stairs. I  don't  know  who  it  is.  He  wouldn't  give 
his  name.  He  said  he  knew  you  were  at  home  and 
insisted  on  seeing  you." 

Argyle,  Sr.,  looked  puzzled.  Who  could  it  be? 
He  never  transacted  business  away  from  his  office, 
and  he  had  always  discouraged  strangers  calling.  In 
fact,  it  was  seldom  that  he  was  home  at  this  time  of 
day. 

"It  isn't  Mr.  Hurley,  is  it?  He  could  hardly  have 
gotten  up  so  quickly." 

Mary  shook  her  head. 

"Oh  no.  I  know  Mr.  Hurley.  This  man  is  a 
stranger.  I  never  saw  him  before." 

The  banker  frowned.  Going  quickly  toward  the 
door,  with  an  expression  on  his  face  as  much  as  to 
say  that  he  would  make  quick  work  of  the  intruder, 
he  said: 

"I'll  go  and  see  what  he  wants.  If  Mr.  Hurley 
comes  let  him  wait  for  me  in  here." 

The  next  moment  the  library  doors  had  closed  be- 
hind the  master  of  the  house,  and  the  young  couple 
were  alone. 

When  she  was  sure  that  the  old  gentleman  was 

13 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

out  of  earshot  the  young  girl  turned  eagerly  to 
Bruce.  Anxiously  she  asked: 

"What's  the  matter?" 

The  young  man  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Oh,  the  usual  thing.  We  can't  agree,  and  never 
could.  This  constant  quarreling  must  stop.  It's 
getting  on  my  nerves.  I'm  going  away — " 

"Going  away?" 

"Yes,  going  away— 

"Why?     What's  happened?" 

For  a  moment  Bruce  made  no  answer.  How 
could  he  tell  this  girl,  the  companion  of  the  happiest 
days  of  his  boyhood,  that  she  was  the  innocent  cause 
of  his  being  disinherited  ?  Yet  know  she  must,  some 
day.  If  he  did  not  tell  her,  others  would.  Finally 
he  blurted  out: 

"He's  furious  because  of  my  marriage  to  Nan,  and 
he's  about  to  make  a  new  will  leaving  everything  to 
you." 

The  young  girl  flushed  and  then  turned  pale.  It 
made  her  happy  that  her  future  was  assured,  yet  it 
pained  her  to  think  that  another  had  been  robbed 
of  what  she  was  to  enjoy.  Gently  she  said : 

"I  don't  want  what  is  rightly  yours,  Bruce,  and  I 
shall  tell  your  father  so." 

The  youth  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"It  would  do  no  good.  Once  he  has  made  up  his 
mind,  all  the  forces  this  side  of  hell  could  not  per- 
suade him  to  change  it." 

"But  surely  matters  are  not  so  bad  as  that.  In 
time  he'll  forget  and  you'll  both  be  friends  again." 

The  young  man  shook  his  head.  Bitterly  he  re- 
plied : 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"No,  Mary.  This  is  the  very  end.  I'm  going 
away,  and  I  sincerely  hope  I  shall  never  see  him 
again.  I'm  sorry  to  leave  you,  of  course,  but  Nan 
and  I  have  our  own  lives  to  live.  I  cannot  remain 
here  and  retain  my  self-respect.  I  shall  come  to  the 
house  once  more — possibly  to-night — to  again  insist 
on  his  giving  me  some  of  the  money  he  has  in  trust 
for  me.  That  will  be  the  very  last  time  I  shall  see 
him  on  earth.  Even  if  he  were  willing  to  acknowl- 
edge my  wife  and  be  to  me  what  a  father  should  be 
to  his  son,  it  would  make  no  difference  in  my  opin- 
ion of  him.  I  can  never  forget  how  he  has  treated 
me  all  these  years.  The  very  sight  of  him  fills  me 
with  repulsion.  I  hate  him!  I  detest  him!" 

"Hush,  Bruce  dear.  You  must  not  talk  that  way. 
After  all,  he  is  your  father.  He — 

Fiercely  the  young  man  interrupted  her: 

"No,  he's  not.  I  deny  it.  It's  impossible  that 
such  a  man  as  that  is  responsible  for  my  being.  We 
haven't  a  single  thought,  a  single  impulse  in  common. 
He  hasn't  a  decent  instinct.  He  is  well  aware  that 
I  know  where  he  got  all  his  money.  That's  why 
he  hates  me.  It's  all  tainted.  I  don't  want  any  of 
it.  I'm  heartily  ashamed  of  him,  and  always  have 
been.  Many  a  time  I've  wished  he  were  dead. 
Sometimes  I  have  felt  like  strangling  him  myself — : 

The  young  girl  raised  her  hand  in  quick  protest. 

"Bruce!" 

He  gave  a  hollow  laugh. 

"Oh,  don't  be  afraid.  I've  no  desire  to  go  to  the 
electric  chair  yet." 

The  young  girl  was  silent.  Her  mind  was  all 
confused  by  the  news  of  this  unexpected  windfall. 

15 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

Much  as  ?he  regretted  this  rupture  between  father 
and  son,  ^he  could  not  help  realizing  what  the  old 
man's  decision  meant  to  her.  It  seemed  too  good 
to  be  true  that  she,  the  poor,  friendless  orphan,  was 
to  inherit  the  wealth  of  John  Argyle.  Presently  she 
asked: 

"Are  you  sure  about  his  changing  the  will?  I 
knew  I  was  mentioned  for  a  certain  sum,  but  that  I 
should  get  all  seems  incredible." 

The  youth  nodded.     Bitterly  he  replied: 

"It's  sure  enough.  He  telephoned  Mr.  Hurley 
just  now.  The  lawyer  may  be  here  any  minute. 
He  said  he'd  come  right  up.  Hurley's  just  the  right 
kind  for  the  governor.  If  ever  there  was  a  rascal 
who  deserved  the  hangman's  noose,  it's  certainly 
he." 

The  girl  nodded. 

"I  never  liked  Mr.  Hurley  myself.  There's  some- 
thing sleek  and  crafty  about  him.  Do  you  think  he 
will  draw  the  new  will  to-day?" 

"Oh,  they  may  draft  it  to-day;  but  then  it  has 
to  be  properly  drawn  up.  I  don't  suppose  it  will  be 
ready  for  signature  before  to-morrow  night,  and 
when  my  father  once  signs  it  that  is  the  end.  He  is 
very  dogged  and  obstinate.  He'll  never  change  it." 

The  young  girl  shook  her  head  protestingly. 
Starting  forward  and  grasping  the  young  man's 
hand,  she  exclaimed,  warmly: 

"No,  Bruce — I  will  not  permit  it.  No  matter 
what  your  father  does  I  will  see  to  it  that  your  rights 
are  protected.  What  do  you  care  whether  you  in- 
herit by  will  or  receive  it  from  me?  Do  you  think 
for  a  moment  that  I  could  enjoy  his  money,  knowing 

16 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

I  had  deprived  you  of  it?  No  matter  what  your 
father's  will  says,  you  will  get  it  just  the  same." 

Making  a  quick  bound  forward,  Bruce  clasped  her 
in  his  strong  arms,  and  his  voice  trembled  with  emo- 
tion as  he  said: 

"I  knew  you'd  say  that,  Mary.  You  always  were 
a  brick.  But  I  refuse — absolutely.  I  cannot,  I 
will  not  accept  your  sacrifice.  I  don't  want  his 
money.  I  won't  touch  a  penny  of  it.  Money  that's 
inherited  seldom  brings  good  luck,  anyhow.  It's 
ruined  many  a  good  man.  It  sha'n't  ruin  me.  I'll 
go  out  into  the  world  and  make  my  own  money,  and 
I  assure  you  that  it  will  be  cleaner  than  his.  It 
wasn't  the  money  I  cared  about  so  much  as  the  un- 
fair way  in  which  he  has  treated  me." 

Mary  was  silent.  Her  heart  was  beating  fast. 
Thoughts  crowded  fast  one  upon  the  other  in  her 
brain.  She  the  mistress  of  the  Argyle  millions!  It 
was  too  good  to  be  true.  She  was  sorry,  of  course, 
for  Bruce;  but,  after  all,  her  conscience  was  clear. 
She  was  not  the  cause  of  the  rupture.  On  the  con- 
trary, she  had  done  everything  possible  to  restore 
amicable  relations.  If  the  banker  did  not  leave  his 
fortune  to  her,  it  would  probably  go  to  some  hospital. 
She  would  be  less  than  human  if  this  totally  unex- 
pected news  did  not  thrill  her  and  fill  her  with  a 
strange  sensation  of  exaltation.  Then  a  sudden 
dread  seized  her.  Suppose  her  benefactor  should 
again  change  his  mind,  and  take  a  sudden  dislike 
to  her  as  he  had  done  to  his  son.  With  such  a  pe- 
culiar man  everything  was  possible. 

Both  were  silent,  each  distrustful  of  the  other, 
stirred  by  different  emotions,  vaguely  antagonistic, 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

the  one's  heart  full  of  hate  and  bitterness  at  the  cruel 
injustice  done  him,  the  other  elated  by  the  unex- 
pected good  fortune  which  had  befallen  her.  Finally 
Mary  broke  the  silence: 

"So  you  are  determined  to  go  away?" 

He  nodded. 

"Yes;  as  soon  as  possible.  I  can't  go  without 
means.  He  must  let  me  have  some  of  grandfather's 
money.  He  refused  just  now,  but  I'll  come  and  see 
him  again  to-morrow.  He  must  do  that.  I'll  make 
him." 

The  young  girl  hesitated.  Finally  she  said, 
timidly: 

"Won't  you  let  me  lend  you  some?  I  have  a  few 
hundred  dollars  that  I've  saved  up." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"No;  I  wouldn't  think  of  it.  Grandfather  left 
me  that  money,  and  father  must  advance  me  some 
of  it.  I'll  make  him — " 

"How  can  you  make  him  if  he  refuses?" 

"I'll—" 

Before  the  sentence  could  be  completed  there  was 
a  commotion  in  the  outside  hall.  The  library  door 
was  suddenly  thrown  open,  and  the  housekeeper 
rushed  in,  disheveled,  and  in  a  state  of  considerable 
excitement.  Startled  at  her  appearance,  they  start- 
ed forward. 

"Whatever  is  the  matter,  Mrs.  Wyatt?" 

"Oh,  my  dear!  Such  perfectly  dreadful  things  as 
happen  nowadays!  It's  perfectly  shocking  and  in- 
credible— really  outrageous!  I  don't  know  what 
we're  coming  to.  The  police,  of  course,  are  to  blame. 
You  know  what  I  mean.  They  ought  to  be  well 

18 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

ashamed  of  themselves.  I  think  I'll  write  a  letter 
to  the  papers.  There's  no  knowing  what  will  hap- 
pen next.  We  might  all  be  kidnapped  or  murdered 
some  day.  A  decent  woman  isn't  safe  in  her  own 
house.  You  know  what  I  mean!" 

The  words,  a  volley  of  disconnected,  incoherent 
phrases,  came  from  her  mouth  with  the  velocity  and 
force  of  a  broadside.  There  was  no  understanding 
what  it  was  about.  All  one  heard  was  a  mere 
jumble  of  senseless  sentences  uttered  by  a  woman 
whose  gestures  and  manner  were  as  eccentric  and 
hysterical  as  her  speech. 

Mrs.  Wyatt  was  the  kind  of  woman  usually  re- 
ferred to  in  polite  literature  as  of  a  certain  age. 
She  might  be  over  fifty,  or,  again,  she  might  be  on 
the  sunny  side  of  forty.  How  she  looked  depended 
largely  on  the  state  of  the  weather  and  her  stomach. 
She  was  a  lady  with  a  past,  who  after  a  stormy  and 
chequered  career  with  a  worthless  husband,  who  had 
at  last  succumbed  to  her  voluble  tongue,  had  found 
a  haven  in  the  home  of  John  Argyle  as  housekeeper, 
a  person  rendered  absolutely  necessary  by  the  ad- 
vent of  the  adopted  daughter  in  the  banker's  house- 
hold. 

When,  at  last,  for  sheer  lack  of  breath  she  stopped 
her  tirade,  Bruce  managed  to  make  himself  heard. 

"What's  the  trouble?" 

The  question  was  perhaps  unfortunate  in  that  it 
was  an  invitation  for  another  broadside  of  excited 
verbiage. 

"Didn't  you  hear?  Everybody's  talking  about 
it.  And  so  close  to  us,  too!  Really,  it  makes  one 
feel  most  uncomfortable.  I  sha'n't  be  able  to  sleep 

19 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

all  night.  Such  things  get  on  one's  nerves.  You 
know  what  I  mean?" 

"But  what  is  it?"  demanded  Mary. 

"Our  next-door  neighbor  has  been  robbed!" 

"Robbed!"  echoed  Bruce  and  Mary  together. 

Only  too  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  give  her  tongue 
free  rein,  Mrs.  Wyatt  again  burst  out: 

"The  Wilkinsons,  next  door.  They  went  to  the 
opera  last  night,  and  Mrs.  Wilkinson  wore  that  mag- 
nificent diamond  tiara  which  her  husband  gave  her 
recently  for  her  silver  wedding.  You  know  the  one 
I  mean.  It's  perfectly  regal.  It's  always  been  my 
dream  to  have  a  tiara  like  that,  but  they're  hardly 
for  a  woman  in  my  position.  One  has  to  have  every- 
thing else  in  proportion.  You  know  what  I  mean — 

"Yes,  yes,"  interrupted  Bruce,  testily;  "but  what 
about  the  robbery?" 

Mary  smiled.  The  housekeeper's  loquaciousness 
was  something  they  had  all  suffered  from  for  years. 
There  was  no  use  hurrying  her.  She  had  to  tell  a 
story  in  her  own  way.  With  an  indignant  glance  at 
the  interrupter,  Mrs.  Wyatt  proceeded: 

"When  they  returned  from  the  opera  Mrs.  Wil- 
kinson took  off  the  tiara  and  placed  it  temporarily 
in  a  jewel-box  on  her  bureau.  She  distinctly  remem- 
bers doing  that.  It  was  too  late  to  open  the  safe. 
She  was  too  sleepy  to  remember  the  combination, 
so  she  thought  it  would  be  all  right  there  till  morn- 
ing. Of  course,  it  was  a  most  unwise  thing  to  do. 
Opportunity  makes  the  thief,  as  the  French  say. 
You  know  what  I  mean?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  groaned  Bruce. 

"Well,  when  she  awoke  in  the  morning  the  tiara 

20 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

was  gone.  Some  one  had  entered  the  bedroom  while 
she  and  her  husband  were  asleep.  Only  the  tiara 
was  taken.  Money,  rings,  and  other  valuables  were 
untouched.  The  thief,  whoever  he  was,  knew  just 
where  the  tiara  was  to  be  found,  and  went  away 
satisfied  with  that.  Well  he  might.  It's  worth  at 
least  ten  thousand  dollars.  Mrs.  Wilkinson,  poor 
woman,  is  completely  prostrated.  I  think  it  is  one 
of  the  servants,  but  so  far  the  police  have  made  no 
arrests.  Mr.  Wilkinson  has  sent  for  Kayton.  He'll 
solve  the  mystery." 

"Kayton!"  exclaimed  Mary,  who  had  been  an  in- 
terested listener.  "Who's  he?" 

"Asche  Kayton,  the  well-known  detective,"  ex- 
plained Bruce,  quickly.  "He's  extraordinarily  clever. 
They  call  him  the  new  Sherlock  Holmes.  He's 
never  yet  failed  in  getting  his  man." 

"Just  so,"  went  on  the  housekeeper;  "that's  what 
everybody  says.  If  Mr.  Kayton  can't  find  the  thief 
nobody  can.  I  only  hope  there's  no  scandal  con- 
nected with  the  case.  One  never  can  tell.  You 
know  what  I  mean." 

Mary  did  not  know,  and  was  about  to  ask  further 
questions  when  the  butler  entered. 

"Mr.  Hurley  has  called,  Miss,  to  see  Mr.  Argyle. 
He  has  an  appointment." 

Bruce  gave  the  young  girl  a  significant  glance, 
but  she  was  so  busy  listening  to  the  servant  that 
she  did  not  notice  it.  Hastily  Mary  said: 

"Show  Mr.  Hurley  in  here,  Finley,  and  inform 
your  master  that  he  has  arrived." 

The  butler  withdrew,  and  the  young  girl  turned 
to  the  housekeeper. 

21 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"We  had  better  leave  the  library  to  dad  and  his 
lawyer.  They  have  business  to  talk  over." 

Bruce  extended  his  hand,  which  the  young  girl 
clasped  in  silence. 

"You  won't  go  before  I  see  you  again,"  she  mur- 
mured. 

He  shook  his  head.  All  his  life,  since  his  earliest 
boyhood  days,  he  and  Mary  had  been  chums.  He 
did  not  intend  to  let  anything  come  between  them 
now.  It  was  not  her  fault  if  she  was  the  favorite. 
He  wished  her  all  the  happiness  and  luck  there  was 
in  the  world.  With  a  smile  he  said: 

"No,  I  won't  say  good-by  now.  I'm  coming  to 
see  father  again.  I'll  see  you  to-morrow  night." 


CHAPTER  III 

TF  you'll  wait  a  moment  in  here,  sir,  Mr.  Argyle 

*  will  join  you  immediately." 

The  obsequious  butler  made  a  low  bow  and  ushered 
into  the  library  a  tall,  heavily  built  man  who  walked 
with  a  quick,  nervous  stride.  Dressed  in  a  frock- 
coat,  patent-leather  shoes,  drab  gaiters,  and  silk  hat, 
he  looked  prosperous,  although  the  cut  of  his  clothes 
and  his  manner  of  wearing  them  did  not  quite  sug- 
gest the  gentleman.  Handing  the  servant  his  hat 
and  cane,  and  flinging  himself  into  an  easy-chair,  he 
said: 

"Yes,  I'll  wait.  I'm  in  no  hurry.  Your  master 
expects  me." 

The  butler  withdrew,  and  Mr.  James  T.  Hurley, 
counselor  at  law,  sat  down  and  carelessly  picked  up 
a  newspaper.  But  it  was  plain  that  the  visitor's 
mind  was  not  on  the  printed  page.  His  eyes,  small 
and  black  like  those  of  a  ferret,  wandered  restlessly 
over  the  room,  as  if  taking  a  mental  inventory  of 
each  object  it  contained,  and  at  times  he  raised  his 
head  and  listened  intently.  He  had  a  nervous 
trick  of  tapping  one  foot  constantly  on  the  floor,  and 
every  now  and  again  he  would  turn  round  quickly 
in  his  chair  as  if  expecting  to  find  some  one  at  his 
elbow. 

Jim  Hurley  was  one  of  those  lawyers,  shrewd, 

23 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

crafty,  unscrupulous,  who  enter  the  profession  not 
so  much  to  interpret  and  enforce  the  law  as  to  evade 
it.  No  one  knew  much  about  him  except  that  he 
was  a  self-made  man  and  came  originally  from  the 
West.  Having  some  ability  as  a  speaker,  and  un- 
usual skill  at  cross-examination,  he  had  built  up  a 
fair-sized  practice.  He  boasted  openly  that  he  had 
only  one  ambition  in  life — to  get  rich,  and  to  him 
a  dirty  dollar  was  every  bit  as  attractive  as  a  clean 
one.  This  philosophy  had  enabled  him  to  secure 
remunerative  work  of  a  kind  usually  shunned  by 
reputable  attorneys,  and  brought  him  in  close  touch 
with  a  lot  of  very  questionable  people.  Accused 
several  times  of  sharp  practice,  the  Bar  Association 
on  more  than  one  occasion  had  threatened  dis- 
ciplinary proceedings,  but  nothing  had  come  of  it, 
and,  quite  indifferent  to  public  opinion,  he  had  gone 
his  own  way. 

The  fact  that  he  lived  in  better  style  and  spent 
more  money  than  the  amount  of  business  done  would 
seem  to  justify  led  many  to  believe  that  he  enjoyed 
a  private  income,  but  from  what  source  no  one  had 
the  slightest  idea.  He  was  a  good  deal  of  a  mys- 
tery, a  reserved,  secretive  kind  of  man  that  no  one 
liked.  Practically  his  only  friend  was  John  Argyle, 
who  was  also  his  best  client.  No  one  could  explain 
why  the  banker  had  taken  up  Hurley  when  there 
were  so  many  more  capable  and  reputable  lawyers 
to  be  had;  yet  the  fact  remained  that  they  were  on 
the  closest  terms  of  intimacy,  and  that  no  one  was 
better  acquainted  than  Mr.  Hurley  with  the  busi- 
ness and  family  affairs  of  the  eccentric  millionaire. 

The  lawyer  did  not  have  long  to  wait.  In  a  few 

24 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

minutes  the  library  door  suddenly  opened  and  Mr. 
Argyle  came  in.  The  banker  lost  no  time  in  un- 
necessary preliminaries.  Coming  right  to  the  point, 
he  said: 

"Hurley,  I  want  to  remake  my  will." 

The  document  had  been  made  and  remade  so 
often  that  the  caller  could  hardly  repress  a  smile, 
which,  fortunately,  the  older  man  did  not  notice. 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  answered,  with  a  certain  deference 
he  always  employed,  for  diplomatic  reasons  of  his 
own,  when  addressing  his  wealthy  client.  "That's 
a  very  easy  matter." 

"Easy  or  difficult,"  snapped  the  old  gentleman, 
"it's  got  to  be  changed.  That's  why  I  sent  for  you." 

The  lawyer  sat  down  at  the  table  and,  taking  from 
his  pocket  pencil  and  memorandum,  waited  for  in- 
structions: 

"Very  well,  sir.     What  are  the  changes  to  be?" 

For  a  moment  there  was  no  reply.  The  promoter 
paced  the  floor  of  the  library  in  meditative  silence. 
Suddenly  he  turned. 

"Everything  to  my  adopted  daughter — every- 
thing, do  you  hear?  Not  a  cent  to  my  son." 

The  lawyer  looked  up  in  surprise. 

"Nothing  to  Bruce?" 

"No — not  a  cent." 

Mr.  Hurley  shook  his  head. 

"As  your  attorney,  sir,  I  would  not  advise  leav- 
ing him  out  entirely.  No  matter  what  your  feel- 
ings toward  him  may  be,  it  is  hardly  possible  for  a 
father  to  ignore  so  entirely  his  own  flesh  and  blood 
in  favor  of  a  stranger,  and  the  courts  might  sustain 
the  plaintiff  if  the  will  were  contested." 
3  25 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

"Then  what  do  you  advise?" 

"I  would  leave  him  a  small  sum,  in  trust  if  neces- 
sary, so  that  he  could  not  say  that  he  had  been  for- 
gotten. Your  will  would  be  the  stronger  for  it." 

"Very  well.  We'll  put  aside  a  certain  sum — say 
fifteen  thousand  dollars — to  be  left  in  trust,  and 
from  which  he  is  to  receive  each  week  the  income. 
At  his  death  the  principal  shall  go  to  some  hospital 
that  we  will  decide  upon.  I  also  name  you  as 
trustee." 

Hr.  Hurley  bowed,  and  there  was  a  crafty  smile 
hovering  about  the  corners  of  his  mouth  as  he  said : 

"Thank  you,  sir,  I  am  much  honored.  Might  I 
suggest  something  in  regard  to  the  trust?" 

"What  is  it?" 

"It  is  usual  for  trustees  to  be  put  under  bond  by 
the  state  to  insure  their  carrying  out  faithfully  the 
provisions  of  the  will.  It  is  sometimes  inconvenient 
for  trustees  to  furnish  such  bonds.  It  would  be  in 
my  case.  If  that  were  necessary  I  would  rather  de- 
cline the  honor  you  confer  on  me." 

The  millionaire  waved  his  hand. 

"That's  all  right,  Hurley.  You  and  I  have  been 
doing  business  together  too  long  for  me  not  to  trust 
you.  Put  in  the  will  that  no  bond  is  required." 

"Yes,  sir — thank  you." 

The  promoter  watched  the  lawyer  closely  while 
he  drafted  the  will.  Presently  he  asked : 

"When  can  you  have  it  ready  for  the  signature?" 

"To-morrow — if  agreeable  to  you." 

The  millionaire  nodded. 

"That  suits  me.     Will  you  bring  it  here?" 

"Yes;  I  don't  quite  know  when.  I  may  have  it 

26 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

ready  to  bring  it  up  in  the  afternoon,  or  I  may  run 
up  with  it  in  the  evening." 

"Very  well;  I'll  expect  you." 

Mr.  Argyle  rose  from  his  chair  as  if  he  considered 
the  interview  at  an  end,  but  Mr.  Hurley  did  not 
stir.  The  lawyer  had  not  yet  terminated  all  the 
business  that  had  brought  him  there.  Yet  he  hesi- 
tated to  speak  out  what  was  on  his  mind.  His  client 
was  not  an  easy  man  to  handle.  That  he  had  often 
discovered  to  his  own  discomfiture.  Finally  he 
blurted  out: 

"Mr.  Argyle,  there  is  still  a  little  matter  I  wish 
to  talk  over  with  you.  You  can  probably  guess  what 
it  is." 

The  millionaire  turned  and  looked  sharply  at  his 
caller. 

"What  is  it,  Mr.  Hurley?  Out  with  it!"  Testily 
he  added:  "You  know  I  never  like  to  beat  about 
the  bush." 

Thus  encouraged,  the  lawyer  spoke  up.  Boldly  he 
said: 

"We  need  more  money." 

The  promoter's  face  darkened.  If  there  was 
anything  that  would  put  John  Argyle  in  a  bad 
humor,  it  was  the  mention  of  money  or  the  ap- 
prehension that  he  was  about  to  be  approached 
for  a  loan.  A  man  of  a  suspicious  nature,  he  had 
a  fixed  idea  that  every  one  had  designs  against  his 
pocket-book. 

"Money?"  he  grumbled.  "You're  always  want- 
ing money.  What  did  you  do  with  that  last  two 
thousand  ?  You  got  it  only  a  week  ago." 

Mr.  Hurley  gave  a  cautious  glance  round  as  if  to 

27 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

make  sure  that  the  door  was  shut  before  he  an- 
swered : 

"It  takes  a  lot  of  money  to  run  the  business.  The 
plates  have  to  be  made  and  new  presses  purchased, 
all  with  the  utmost  secrecy.  The  specially  woven 
paper  is  also  very  expensive.  We  can't  expect  to 
reap  unless  we  sow.  You're  enough  of  a  business 
man  to  know  that,  Mr.  Argyle." 

The  millionaire  frowned  as  he  snapped: 

"I'm  not  a  cow  to  be  milked,  Mr.  Hurley." 

"If  there's  no  milk  to  be  had,  you  can't  expect 
to  get  any  cream,  Mr.  Argyle." 

"I  don't  expect  any  cream,"  rejoined  the  promoter, 
testily.  "You  know  perfectly  well  that  I  did  not 
go  into  the  affair  to  make  money.  It  was  the 
novelty  of  the  thing  that  appealed  to  me  more  than 
anything  else.  It  isn't  often  one  gets  a  chance  of 
getting  even  with  the  government." 

The  lawyer  leaned  forward.  In  a  dramatic  under- 
tone he  said: 

"  That's  why  you  must  help  us.  You  have  gone 
too  far  to  draw  back  now." 

The  millionaire  clenched  his  teeth.  Doggedly  he 
said: 

"  I'll  go  no  further  than  I  choose.  I've  had  enough, 
I  tell  you." 

"It's  too  late,  Mr.  Argyle.  You  are  as  deeply 
involved  as  the  rest  of  us.  If  our  plans  fail  for  lack 
of  capital,  and  the  government  Secret  Service  agents 
get  wind  of  our  plans,  there  is  no  telling  what  might 
happen.  You  don't  want  it  known  that  John 
Argyle  is  a  promoter  of  counterfeit  money,  do 
you?" 

38 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

"Damn  you!  Shut  up!  Do  you  want  my  ser- 
vants to  hear?" 

The  millionaire,  his  face  livid  with  rage,  sprang  for- 
ward, and  going  to  the  door,  opened  it  quickly  to 
see  if  any  one  was  listening.  Finding  no  one,  and 
reassured,  he  returned  to  where  the  lawyer  was 
sitting. 

"Is  this  blackmail?"  he  demanded,  contemptu- 
ously. 

The  lawyer's  face  assumed  a  grieved  expression. 
Rising,  he  replied: 

"Mr.  Argyle,  I  had  hoped  that  our  relations  in  the 
past  had  been  such  as  to  make  it  impossible  for  you 
even  to  imagine  such  a  thing  of  me.  I  asked  you  for 
money  because  Kreisler  told  me  he  must  have  it  if 
he  is  to  get  the  new  notes  out.  He  has  exhausted 
all  his  own  resources.  I  have  exhausted  mine.  We 
need  at  least  five  thousand  dollars." 

"You  won't  get  it!"  replied  the  old  man,  dog- 
gedly. "I've  had  my  fun,  and  it's  cost  me  a  pretty 
penny.  This  is  where  I  stop  for  good.  Your  secret 
is  safe  with  me,  but  no  more  money.  You  must  find 
another  capitalist  to  finance  you." 

Hiding  his  disappointment  as  much  as  he  could, 
the  lawyer  bowed  politely. 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Argyle.  Of  course,  you  are  at 
liberty  to  retire  from  the  partnership  whenever  you 
see  fit,  but  one  can't  help  wondering  why  you  came 
in  at  all  unless  you  were  willing  to  see  it  through." 

The  old  gentleman  chuckled. 

"It  is  simple  enough.  I  joined  your  counterfeit- 
ing gang  partly  because  I  had  a  grudge  against  the 
government  for  making  me  pay  one  hundred  thou- 

29 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

sand  dollars'  fine  on  a  shipment  not  properly  de- 
clared, and  partly  because  I  enjoyed  the  fun.  It 
was  as  good  a  way  of  spending  my  money  and  getting 
some  excitement  out  of  life  as  any  other.  I  began 
here  as  a  speculator  in  real  estate  in  boom  times.  In 
my  land  deals  I  capitalized  the  future  earnings  of 
this  town,  as  you  might  say.  You  understand,  of 
course,  a  town  lot  has  no  value  except  what  comes 
to  it  from  the  industry  and  success  of  the  citizens 
of  the  town.  I  capitalized  the  future  earning  power 
and  production  of  these  citizens — overcapitalized  it 
— and  they  are  still  working  to  pay  interest  on  that 
interest,  if  you  understand  what  I  mean." 

The  lawyer,  deeply  interested,  bowed  and  listened 
intently  to  this  self-denunciation  of  a  man  who  had 
no  shame  in  confessing  how  he  had  prospered  by 
preying  on  his  fellow-men.  Certainly  this  Argyle 
was  original.  It  was  something  new  in  his  experi- 
ence to  find  a  millionaire  risking  many  years  in 
state  prison  merely  to  enjoy  the  dubious  amusement 
of  helping  in  the  manufacture  and  circulation  of 
counterfeit  money.  Mr.  Argyle  continued: 

"I  put  into  my  own  pocket  the  public  increment 
on  huge  blocks  of  land  here — money  that,  in  its  final 
aspect,  belonged  to  the  city  itself.  Then  I  purchased 
the  street-railway,  another  property  that  had  no 
value  except  such  as  was  given  to  it  by  the  industrial 
and  commercial  success  of  the  city.  And  I  over- 
capitalized this,  too,  so  as  to  collect  at  once  upon 
the  future  of  the  city,  and  I  sold  out  the  stock  and 
put  that  money  also  to  my  credit.  In  this  case  I 
had  to  use  some  of  the  money  to  purchase  civic 
officials  who  would  otherwise  have  defended  their 

30 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

electorate  from  exploitation.  And  in  doing  so  I 
was  only  doing  what  'promoters'  make  a  business 
of  doing  generally  in  this  country,  you  under- 
stand?" 

The  lawyer  nodded,  lost  in  admiration  at  this 
financial  genius  who  so  well  understood  the  act  of 
turning  crooked  politicians  to  his  own  advantage. 
Mr.  Argyle  proceeded: 

"Then  I  went  into  loans — collecting  upon  the 
commercial  distress  which  my  previous  operations 
had  helped  to  create.  I  bought  a  controlling  inter- 
est in  several  industrial  companies,  and  reorganized 
them — sometimes  by  means  of  a  sales  company — in 
such  a  way  that  all  the  profits  of  the  industries 
came  to  us  and  the  original  stockholders  received 
only  a  small  income  on  their  investments.  These 
operations  are  quite  common.  Men  are  performing 
them  to-day  in  every  city,  perhaps,  in  the  country. 
Why  should  we  draw  the  line  at  promoting  counter- 
feiting?" 

Mr.  Hurley  smiled.  The  conclusion  was  logical 
enough.  Looking  up,  he  said: 

"Would  you  mind  telling  me  how  a  man  in  your 
position  and  of  your  standing  came  to  meet  Fried- 
rick  Kreisler,  the  famous  counterfeiter?" 

"That  was  curious,"  replied  the  banker,  smiling 
reminiscently.  "  Some  months  ago  I  began  to  dream 
continually  of  being  in  a  locality  that  was  quite  un- 
familiar to  me.  I  could  not  in  my  waking  moments 
remember  ever  having  seen  it.  Yet  it  became  ex- 
traordinarily vivid  in  my  mind  from  these  dreams. 
Last  month  I  had  occasion  to  go  to  a  town  where 
we  were  reorganizing  a  gas  and  electric  company  that 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

wanted  a  new  franchise  to  supply  light  and  power. 
And  one  day,  as  I  walked  away  from  my  hotel,  I 
recognized  the  street.  I  could  have  told  you  the 
names  on  the  shop  signs  before  I  came  to  them.  I 
remembered  particularly  the  gilt  lettering  on  the 
plate-glass  windows  of  a  bank.  And  when  I  came 
to  a  hitching-post  in  front  of  a  hardware  store  it  was 
a  metal  figure  of  a  negro  boy  holding  up  a  tie-ring — 
I  recollected  that  there  should  have  been  a  man 
waiting  for  me  with  his  hand  on  that  post.  That 
was  the  way  we  had  met  in  my  dreams.  He  was 
not  there.  I  went  back  again  in  the  evening,  but 
he  was  not  there.  On  the  following  morning,  as  I 
approached,  I  saw  him.  I  went  up  to  him  and  said : 
'You  are  looking  for  me?' 

"He  replied  that  he  was  looking  for  some  one 
with  money  who  would  be  willing  to  back  him 
in  an  enterprise  in  which  there  would  be  large  re- 
turns. 

"I  explained  that  I  was  evidently  the  man  he 
wanted,  since  I  was  a  promoter  by  profession.  He 
made  an  appointment  to  call  on  me  at  my  hotel. 
And  he  came. 

"He  told  me  then  that  he  was  an  engraver;  that 
he  had  worked  hard  all  his  life,  honestly,  and  had  re- 
mained poor;  that  he  had  been  reading  much  about 
modern  business  methods,  and  had  concluded  that 
he,  too,  had  a  right  to  use  his  ability  to  make  money 
regardless  of  the  honesty  of  the  means.  He  pointed 
out  to  me  that  in  selling  watered  stock  I  had  really 
been  selling  a  sort  of  counterfeit  stock  certificate. 
He  argued,  too,  that  we  would  do  no  one  an  in- 
justice by  issuing  counterfeit  money,  since,  as  long 

32 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

as  it  was  kept  in  circulation,  it  would  be  worth  its 
face  value.  If  a  man  suspected  it  he  could  pass  it 
on  to  some  one  else,  just  as  he  would  with  stocks. 
He  was  very  convincing.  Then  he  sent  you  to  me. 
You  used  further  arguments.  You  know  the  rest. 
I  finally  agreed  to  finance  your  scheme." 

Mr.  Hurley  laughed  loudly. 

"It's  been  a  splendid  partnership.  You  the  back- 
er, Kreisler  the  engraver,  I  the  business  head.  We 
got  out  as  fine  a  ten-dollar  bill  as  ever  deceived  a 
bank-teller,  and  distributed  it  in  large  quantities  all 
over  the  country.  It  was  a  golden  harvest." 

"A  harvest  I  didn't  participate  in,"  interrupted 
the  millionaire,  dryly.  "I  let  you  and  Kreisler  en- 
joy the  profits.  All  I  wanted  was  the  fun." 

The  lawyer  looked  glum. 

"Yes,  it  was  good  while  it  lasted,  but  money 
made  so  easily  is  soon  spent.  Kreisler  has  gone 
through  every  cent  of  his.  He's  living  in  the  great- 
est poverty  with  that  woman." 

Mr.  Argyle  nodded. 

"  Poor  Masuret's  wife.  She  never  was  much  good, 
but  I  was  never  able  to  see  what  induced  her  to  de- 
sert her  husband  for  a  man  who  has  spent  a  con- 
siderable part  of  his  life  in  state  prison." 

Hurley  shrugged  his  shoulders.     Dryly  he  replied : 

"It's  easy  to  understand.  Women  love  a  dash 
of  romance.  Her  life  with  Masuret  had  been  ex- 
ceptionally humdrum.  Kreisler  suddenly  appeared 
upon  the  scene.  He  was  handsome,  picturesque, 
quite  the  opposite  of  her  commonplace  husband. 
At  that  time  Kreisler  was  flush.  She  couldn't  resist 
him.  They  have  been  together  ever  since." 

33 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"Where  are  they  now?" 

"In  a  bare  attic  on  the  top  floor  of  an  East  Side 
tenement — hiding  from  the  police.  Kreisler  is  des- 
perately hard  up.  He  is  working  hard  on  his  new 
bill.  If  he  succeeds  in  putting  it  out  we'll  all  be 
flush  again.  But  to  complete  the  job  he  must  have 
money." 

The  millionaire  shook  his  head. 

"Not  from  me!"  he  said,  determinedly.  "I'm 
done  with  it  for  good." 

Mr.  Hurley's  face  darkened  as  he  leaned  forward 
and  exclaimed: 

"You  can't  leave  us  in  the  lurch  now.  We  won't 
be  trifled  with  like  that.  You  must  help  us." 

The  old  gentleman  elevated  his  eyebrows. 

"Must,  Mr.  Hurley?  Surely  that's  a  strong  word 
to  use." 

"Not  stronger  than  it  should  be,  Mr.  Argyle,"  re- 
joined the  lawyer.  "You  ought  to  realize  our  posi- 
tion. Don't  drive  us  to  extremes." 

The  millionaire  looked  keenly  at  his  companion. 

"Is  this  a  threat,  Mr.  Hurley?" 

The  lawyer  laughed  loudly  as  he  rose.  With  re- 
newed good  humor  he  exclaimed: 

"Threats  between  two  such  friends  as  you  and 
me,  Mr.  Argyle!  That  would  be  ridiculous.  Well, 
don't  let  us  talk  of  money  matters  now.  Think 
it  over  and  see  what  you  can  do.  Meantime 
I'll  go  back  to  the  office  and  have  the  new  will 
drawn  up.  I'll  see  you  again  to-morrow  night. 
Good-by." 

The  millionaire  nodded  carelessly. 

"Good-by.  You  can  bring  me  the  will  to  sign; 

34 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

but  if  I  were  you  I'd  look  elsewhere  for  funds  for 
Kreisler." 

The  lawyer  laughed.  As  he  reached  the  door  he 
again  turned  round  and  said: 

"Think  it  over,  Mr.  Argyle;  think  it  over.  I'll 
see  you  to-morrow  night." 


-  ' 


CHAPTER  IV 

PRACTICAL,  up-to-date  methods  have  shat- 
•*•  tered  many  old  -  time  traditions  and  brought 
about  astonishing  modifications  in  the  manner  of 
doing  business  in  all  kinds  of  industrial  enterprises; 
but  nowhere  has  the  change  been  more  apparent, 
more  startling  than  in  the  personality  and  working 
system  of  the  modern  detective.  The  days  of 
Lecocq,  Gaboriau,  Gorin,  and  other  world-famous 
thief-catchers  are  past.  No  longer  does  the  sleuth 
resort  to  the  clumsy  expedient  of  dyeing  his  hair, 
wearing  fierce-looking  whiskers,  and  assuming  other 
elaborate  disguises  in  order  to  shadow  an  unsuspect- 
ing quarry.  All  the  picturesqueness,  all  the  romance 
of  the  detective  business  has  gone  forever.  The 
successful  detective  of  to-day  is  essentially  a  shrewd, 
hard-headed  business  man.  His  success  is  the  result 
of  sound  judgment,  hard  work,  and,  above  all,  a 
special  aptitude  for  his  calling.  In  investigating 
criminal  cases  he  uses  the  same  systematic,  practical, 
common-sense  methods  as  are  found  in  the  manage- 
ment of  any  important  commercial  house. 

Another  shock  awaits  the  visitor  when  curiosity 
or  necessity  takes  him  to  the  headquarters  of  the 
progressive,  up-to-date  detective.  Instead  of  a 
small,  dimly  lighted  room,  such  as  his  vivid  imagina- 
tion has  conjured  up,  with  mysterious  doors,  sinister, 

36 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

dusty-looking  archives,  and  green-baize  desk  heaped 
high  with  dockets  of  sensational  cases,  he  beholds 
spacious,  comfortably  furnished  offices,  no  different 
from  any  other,  with  telephones  ringing,  a  number  of 
neat-looking  female  stenographers  busy  typewriting, 
clerks  going  in  and  out  amid  all  the  bustle  and 
activity  of  the  average  place  of  business. 

Asche  Kayton,  the  famous  detective,  occupied  al- 
most an  entire  floor  on  the  top  of  one  of  Broadway's 
newest  sky-scrapers.  It  was  a  big  place  and  cost  a 
pretty  rental;  but  it  was  none  too  big  to  handle  the 
extraordinary  amount  of  business  done  by  this  world- 
famed  sleuth,  whose  name  was  a  terror  to  criminals 
and  a  household  word  in  every  home  in  the  country. 
The  files  alone  of  newspaper  clippings  and  portraits 
— a  veritable  rogues*  gallery — necessitated  floor 
space  equal  to  three  large  rooms.  In  the  large  outer 
reception-hall  clients  awaited  their  turn  to  consult 
the  detective,  and  off  this  was  a  smaller  office  marked 
"Private,"  where  the  chief  saw  his  callers.  Other 
offices  were  for  the  use  of  the  clerical  staff  and 
operatives. 

The  general  furnishings  did  not  differ  in  any 
marked  degree  from  other  business  offices  of  the 
same  size.  About  the  only  thing  that  might  suggest 
to  the  visitor  the  nature  of  the  business  done  were 
a  number  of  frames  on  the  walls  containing  finger- 
prints carefully  labeled  and  dated,  and  copies  of 
police  handbills  giving  descriptions  of  criminals 
wanted. 

If  the  offices  were  always  busy,  and  the  clerks  and 
operatives  kept  going  at  high  pressure,  there  was 
little  wonder  at  it,  Every  one  who  had  a  knotty 

37 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

problem  to  unravel,  a  difficult  clue  to  follow,  a  mys- 
tery to  solve,  brought  it  to  Asche  Kay  ton.  "Never- 
Fail  Kay  ton  "  people  called  him,  and  it  was  a  reputa- 
tion that  had  been  built  up  gradually  during  over 
twenty  years  of  continued  success,  mostly  in  the 
employ  of  the  Secret  Service  of  the  United  States. 
The  son  of  a  tradesman,  Kayton  was  trained  for  a 
mercantile  career,  but  he  had  little  taste  for  business, 
showing  greater  preference  for  police  work.  Soon 
he  became  intensely  interested  in  the  detection  of 
crime.  When  only  twenty  years  of  age  he  made  a 
close  study  of  detective  methods,  and,  convinced 
that  they  were  all  wrong  and  obsolete,  devised  a 
system  of  his  own,  the  efficacy  of  which  he  soon  found 
an  opportunity  to  put  to  a  practical  test.  He  was 
successful  in  a  number  of  difficult  cases  which  had 
completely  baffled  the  local  police,  and  before  long 
every  one  was  talking  about  Kayton's  wonderful 
skill  in  tracking  criminals  and  solving  mysterious 
murder  cases.  The  government  heard  of  his  success 
and  offered  him  inducements  to  join  the  Secret  Ser- 
vice. In  this  new  position  he  made  a  brilliant  rec- 
ord. For  years  his  skill  and  ingenuity  were  pitted 
against  the  cleverest  and  most  dangerous  counter- 
feiters and  forgers  in  the  country.  He  proved  him- 
self more  than  a  match  for  them  all,  tracking  them 
from  city  to  city,  upsetting  their  most  carefully  laid 
plans,  and  finally  landing  them  behind  prison  bars. 
He  made  possible  the  prosecution  of  the  graft  scan- 
dals in  New  York  City;  he  ferreted  out  the  truth 
about  the  land  frauds  in  Florida  and  Michigan;  he 
waged  a  merciless  war  on  all  police  corruptionists, 
railroad  thieves,  and  bribe-taking  legislators.  When 

38 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

the  entire  country  was  horrified  by  the  dynamite 
outrages,  Asche  Kayton  went  on  the  trail  of  the 
dynamiters,  and  did-  not  rest  until  he  had  captured 
them  all  and  secured  their  conviction. 

In  personal  appearance  no  one  could  possibly  sug- 
gest a  detective  less.  A  man  still  in  the  early  forties, 
curly-haired  and  muscular,  jovial  and  good-humored, 
he  looked  more  like  a  genial  and  prosperous  business 
man  than  a  professional  detector  of  crime.  There 
was  always  a  good-natured  expression  on  his  face, 
and  his  manner  was  easy  and  friendly.  He  liked  to 
chat  and  exchange  jokes  with  whoever  he  met,  yet 
the  close  observer  did  not  fail  to  notice  something 
hard  and  unyielding  in  those  mild,  gray  eyes,  now 
twinkling  with  fun.  The  lines  about  the  mouth 
were  firm  and  determined,  and  every  now  and  then 
there  came  into  his  face  the  expression  of  a  man  who 
never  lets  up  and  cannot  be  shaken  off  once  he  has 
hit  what  he  thinks  the  right  trail. 

His  life  had  often  been  in  danger;  but  he  laughed 
at  all  threats,  believing  that  every  criminal  is  at 
heart  a  coward.  He  did  not  know  what  the  word 
fear  meant,  yet  for  all  that  he  did  not  fail  to  take 
due  precautions.  He  was  always  armed  with  a  re- 
volver, and  he  kept  a  good  lookout.  He  was  never 
off  his  guard,  and  he  had  the  unusual  gift  of  being 
able  to  size  up  a  man  from  the  distance.  The  only 
way  to  have  killed  him  would  have  been  to  attack 
him  from  the  rear. 

When  complimented  on  his  success  and  questioned 
about  his  system,  he  replied  that  it  was  very  simple. 
"The  practice  of  my  profession,"  he  said,  "like  the 
practice  of  law  or  medicine,  is  the  practice  of  com- 

39 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

mon  sense.  The  detective's  success  is  the  result  of 
straight  thinking,  good  judgment,  hard  work,  and 
an  aptitude  for  the  business.  There  are  no  mys- 
teries— every  criminal  leaves  a  trail  behind  him.  It 
is  the  detective's  ability  to  see  and  follow  traces  so 
slight  that  others  do  not  perceive  that  counts  for 
much  in  his  success.  The  average  clever  criminal 
is  overtrained.  In  trying  to  avoid  detection,  he  be- 
comes abnormally  cautious,  and  so  betrays  himself. 
In  one  of  the  land-fraud  investigations  I  found  one 
of  the  men  lying.  By  every  apparent  indication  the 
statement  was  truthful.  I  felt  he  was  lying.  He 
overtrained  himself — he  told  a  little  too  much.  The 
next  day  I  told  him  just  where  he  lied,  and  the  whole 
truth  came  out.  The  detective,  to  be  a  success  in 
his  profession,  must  not  recognize  any  obstacles. 
If  you  come  to  a  stone  wall  there  must  be  a  way 
around.  Frame  up  a  situation  that  will  get  you 
around  or  over."  Once,  after  Asche  Kayton  had 
succeeded  in  making  an  important  arrest,  a  news- 
paper printed  his  portrait  with  the  heading:  "THE 
MAN  WHO  NEVER  FAILED."  The  underworld 
laughed  in  derision,  but  only  for  a  time.  The  crooks 
soon  learned  to  respect  and  fear  this  remarkable 
man  who  held  the  astonishing  record  of  never 
having  failed  in  any  case  that  he  had  undertaken. 
This  morning  the  Kayton  offices  were  busier  than 
usual.  The  typewriting  machines  were  rattling 
along  at  full  speed,  several  telephone-bells  were 
ringing  simultaneously,  there  was  a  perfect  pande- 
monium of  slamming  doors  and  voices.  A  young 
clean-shaven  man,  of  slight  physique,  but  with  an 
unusually  intelligent  face  and  alert  eye,  entered 

40 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

quickly  from  Mr.  Kayton's  room,  the  glass  door  of 
which  was  marked  "Private,"  and  addressed  a 
heavily  built  man  who  was  seated  at  one  of  the 
desks,  glancing  over  some  papers. 

"Seen  anything  of  the  chief  yet,  Nash?" 

The  man  looked  up. 

"Not  yet,  Joe.  I'm  waiting  to  give  him  my  dope 
on  that  Wilkinson  diamond  job.  It's  a  cuckoo,  take  it 
from  me — as  fishy  a  yarn  as  ever  I  was  handed  out." 

Dressed  in  a  faded  blue  -  serge  suit  with  tan 
waistcoat,  striped  shirt,  yellow  buttoned  shoes,  a 
Masonic  watch-fob  dangling  from  his  pocket,  and  a 
huge  paste  diamond  in  a  tan-colored  tie,  the  speaker 
looked  the  typical  cheap  drummer.  No  one,  at  a 
casual  glance,  would  have  taken  him  for  one  of  the 
most  highly  trained,  shrewdest  sleuths  on  Kayton's 
staff.  This  style  of  get-up — commonplace  and  vul- 
gar— wras  part  of  Kayton's  system.  He  considered 
the  old  style  of  costume  for  detectives  obsolete  and 
all  wrong.  He  insisted  that  if  his  men  wore  heavy 
shoes,  a  black  tie,  and  sombrero  hat  they  could  be 
spotted  a  mile  away,  while  if  they  dressed  like  an 
every-day  street  loafer  they  passed  unnoticed  in  the 
crowd. 

Joe  grinned.  With  an  air  of  superiority  he 
chuckled : 

"Say,  weren't  you  onto  that  bunch?  Directly  I 
heard  of  the  robbery,  I  knew  it  was  phony.  The 
old  woman's  a  bridge  fiend,  and  has  lost  heavily  on 
the  ponies.  The  only  way  she  could  raise  money 
was  to  sell  her  diamonds,  and  make  a  holler.  Why 
didn't  you  ask  me?" 

Nash  shook  his  mustache  ruefully. 
4  41 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"You  think  you're  smart,  don't  you?  I  guess 
you'd  still  be  out  fine-combing  the  pawn-shops  if  the 
chief  hadn't  put  you  wise.  He  worked  it  out  all 
right.  Say,  ain't  he  a  wonder?" 

Joe's  eyes  twinkled,  and  an  expressive  whistle 
escaped  from  between  his  thin  lips  as  he  exclaimed 
enthusiastically : 

"Is  he?  Well,  I  guess.  He's  the  slickest  thing 
you  ever  saw.  I  sometimes  wronder-if  he's  human. 
Nash,  I  do  believe  that  Kayton  can  see  through  a 
brick  wall  and  read  what  people  think  even  when 
they  refuse  to  open  their  mouths.  I  pity  any  crook 
once  Kayton  gets  on  his  trail.  He  might  as  well 
make  up  his  mind  at  once  to  take  his  medicine  like 
a  man." 

Joe  Manning  was  nothing  if  not  enthusiastic. 
Although  the  youngest  sleuth  on  Kayton's  staff,  he 
had  earned  quick  promotion,  displaying  such  nerve 
and  sagacity  in  all  emergencies  that  the  chief  finally 
awarded  him  the  supreme  prize  for  merit — making 
him  his  personal  assistant.  This  meant  not  only 
more  salary — a  consideration  Joe  cared  little  about — 
but  the  one  thing  the  young  man  most  craved  for. 
It  became  his  duty  to  be  in  constant  attendance  on 
his  employer.  When  Kayton  himself  went  out  on 
a  case,  Joe  always  accompanied  him;  when  the  chief 
had  office  work  to  transact  the  faithful  Joe  mounted 
guard  at  a  desk  close  by,  and  one  might  as  well  have 
tried  to  break  into  the  Bank  of  England  as  get  to 
Asche  Kayton,  until  Joe  gave  permission. 

"What's  keeping  him  this  morning?"  growled 
Nash,  chafing  at  being  kept  indoors  on  such  a  fine 
day. 

42 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"Search  me!"  rejoined  Joe,  carelessly.  Turning 
to  another  man  who  at  that  moment  entered  the 
office,  he  called  out:  "Say,  Leishman,  did  the  chief 
expect  to  be  late  this  morning?" 

Augustus  Leishman,  manager  of  the  Kayton  office, 
might  well  have  been  mistaken  for  a  clergyman,  so 
clean-shaven  and  benevolent -looking  was  he  in 
appearance.  A  man  of  about  fifty,  he  was  bald, 
lean-cheeked,  thin-lipped,  and  wore  a  low  collar  and 
black  string  tie.  He  was  suave  and  discreet  to  a 
degree,  and  these  two  qualities,  indispensable  in  a 
man  of  his  position,  had,  in  fact,  won  him  his  present 
position.  He  smiled  blandly  as  he  replied: 

"No,  Mr.  Kayton  said  nothing  to  me.  I  suppose 
he'll  be  here  any  minute." 

The  words  were  hardly  out  of  his  mouth  when  the 
gate  in  the  outside  corridor  slammed  loudly.  The 
next  instant  the  office  door  was  thrown  open  and  a 
tall,  energetic-looking  man  entered  like  a  whirlwind. 
It  was  Asche  Kayton,  the  world's  most  famous 
detective. 

Nodding  good-humoredly  to  his  waiting  subordi- 
nates, the  chief  crossed  the  outer  office  with  a  stride 
and,  pushing  open  the  door  marked  "  Private,"  went 
in,  closely  followed  by  Joe. 

The  room  where  Kayton  received  his  clients  was 
large  and  well  lighted.  It  had  two  doors :  one  leading 
to  the  office  of  Mr.  Leishman,  the  manager,  the  other 
giving  access  to  the  outer  office  and  the  hall.  Near 
this  latter  door  was  a  small  desk  used  by  Joe,  not 
necessarily  for  real  work,  but  it  sometimes  suited 
Kayton's  purpose  to  have  a  witness  present  when 
talking  with  visitors;  and  his  assistant,  while  pre- 
43 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

tending  to  be  very  busy  at  his  little  desk  in  the  corner, 
never  failed  to  keep  his  ears  open.  The  chief's 
desk,  in  the  center  of  the  room,  looked  businesslike. 
It  was  covered  with  papers  and  letter-files,  and  wire 
baskets  heaped  high  with  opened  letters  and  tele- 
grams. Two  telephones,  one  long-distance,  the 
other  for  the  office,  were  within  reach,  and  a  system 
of  electric  push-buttons  communicated  with  the 
operatives  and  every  other  department.  In  case  of 
trouble  with  some  cantankerous  individual  Kayton 
only  had  to  push  a  button  to  get  immediate  help. 
Conspicuous  among  the  general  litter  on  the  desk, 
and  significant  of  the  nature  of  the  business  done  by 
the  office,  were  a  pair  of  steel  handcuffs,  while  over 
Joe's  desk  were  several  framed  finger-prints. 

"Good  morning,  sir,"  smiled  the  assistant. 

"Morning,  Joe.     How  goes  it?" 

The  young  man  grinned. 

"We  were  beginning  to  worry  about  you,  Chief. 
One  never  knows  what  you're  up  against.  Since 
those  dynamiters  threatened  your  life  we're  really 
scared.  Nash  has  the  report  on  the  Wilkinson 
diamond  case  for  you." 

Kayton  chuckled. 

"Wilkinson  case!  Why  do  we  want  to  be  wasting 
our  talent  on  such  child's  play  as  that?  We'll  soon 
be  after  bigger  game,  Joe." 

There  was  something  in  the  chief's  voice  that  made 
the  young  man  look  up  quickly.  Kayton's  mouth 
twitched  and  his  eyes  sparkled  as  they  always  did 
when  something  exciting  was  at  hand.  It  always 
reminded  Joe  of  the  quivering  of  a  high-bred  horse 
about  to  start  upon  a  race,  only  in  this  case  the 

44 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

horse  was  a  detective  and  the  prey  a  criminal  trying 
to  evade  justice.  Something  very  important  had 
happened,  that  was  evident.  Nothing  less  could 
have  disturbed  his  superior's  equanimity. 

"Yes,  sir?"  he  said,  discreetly. 

It  was  a  tradition  in  Kayton's  office  that  no  one 
should  ask  a  direct  question. 

The  chief  flung  himself  down  in  his  swivel-chair 
at  the  desk  and  glanced  hurriedly  over  the  pile  of 
telegrams.  For  a  moment  there  was  complete 
silence  broken  only  by  the  ticking  of  the  clock  and 
the  distant  cries  from  the  street  of  newspaper  venders 
hoarsely  calling  "Extra!" 

Kayton  suddenly  pricked  up  his  ears. 

"Joe,"  he  exclaimed,  "do  you  hear  that?" 

The  young  man  listened.  Skeptically  he  replied: 
"You  mean  the  'extra'  they're  calling?  Usual 
fake,  I  wager." 

Kayton  shook  his  head. 

"Not  this  time,  Joe.  Where  have  you  been  these 
two  days  ?  The  papers  have  been  full  of  it.  There's 
been  a  big  murder.  It  has  made  a  tremendous  sen- 
sation in  this  town." 

Joe  looked  up,  an  interested  expression  on  his 
face. 

"A  murder,  sir?  I  hadn't  heard  of  it.  I've 
been  out  of  town  for  a  week.  What  murder?" 

"Old  man  Argyle.  He  was  found  strangled  and 
shot  to  death  in  his  library!" 

"You  don't  mean  John  Argyle,  the  banker?" 

Kayton  nodded. 

"Yes,  I  do.  He  was  killed  at  three  o'clock  Friday 
morning." 

45 


Joe  gave  an  expressive  whistle. 

"That's  a  corker,  all  right!     Robbery?" 

"No;  not  a  thing  was  touched,  although  the  room 
was  full  of  valuables.  That's  the  queer  part  of  it. 
Looks  like  a  family  affair,  which  makes  it  all  the  more 
sensational.  The  police,  as  usual,  are  all  at  sea. 
No  arrests  have  been  made,  although  the  scent's 
forty-eight  hours  old." 

"Any  one  in  the  family  under  suspicion?  What 
was  the  motive?" 

Kayton  sat  with  compressed  lips,  thinking  hard. 

"That's  just  it.  First,  find  the  motive.  In  this 
case  there  are  two.  I'm  not  officially  connected  with 
the  case,  but  I've  found  out  that  much.  Two  per- 
sons gained  a  distinct  advantage  in  the  case  of  the 
old  gentleman's  death.  One  was  his  son  Bruce,  with 
whom  he  recently  had  a  violent  quarrel,  and  whom 
he  disinherited.  The  other  was  his  adopted  daughter 
Mary  Masuret,  recently  made  sole  beneficiary  under 
a  new  will — " 

"You  suspect  the  girl?" 

Kayton  shook  his  head. 

"The  old  man  put  up  a  stiff  fight.  There  is  evi- 
dence of  a  desperate  struggle.  A  slender,  delicate 
girl  could  hardly  have  done  it." 

"Then  the  son— 

"He  is  more  likely." 

"Perhaps  a  servant — 

Kayton  made  no  answer.  Taking  a  cigar  from 
a  box  at  his  elbow,  he  lit  it  deliberately.  After  a  few 
puffs  he  turned  to  his  assistant  and  said,  good- 
humoredly: 

"Say,  Joe,  we  should  worry?  It's  up  to  Police 

46 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

Headquarters.  Let  them  hustle.  These  things  in- 
terest me,  because  it's  in  my  line  of  business,  but 
really  it's  none  of  my  funeral." 

The  younger  man  shook  his  head  sagely. 

"Not  yet,  maybe,  but  it  soon  will  be.  The  police 
will  do  nothing,  and  they'll  come  to  you." 

As  he  spoke  the  telephone  -  bell  rang.  Kayton 
picked  the  receiver  up  from  his  desk  and  put  it  to 
his  ear. 

"Hello.  Yes,  this  is  Mr.  Kayton — Asche  Kayton 
— yes.  Mr.  Bruce  Argyle — oh  yes!  Police  done 
nothing.  I'm  not  surprised.  Could  I  take  up  the 
case?  Yes — I  suppose  I  could.  Let  me  see,  what's 
your  address?  Very  well,  I'll  be  right  over.  Oh, 
by  the  way,  Mr.  Argyle,  will  you  please  see  that 
nothing  is  disturbed  in  the  room  till  I  come.  Yes — 
that's  the  idea.  It's  my  way  of  doing  business. 
I'll  be  right  over.  Good-by." 

The  chief  put  down  the  receiver  and  turned  to 
Joe  with  a  look  of  triumph. 

"What  did  I  tell  you?  The  police  are  pin-heads. 
They've  done  nothing.  The  son  wants  me  to  take 
it.  Maybe  a  clever  bluff  on  his  part.  Anyhow, 
here  goes!"  Rising  from  his  seat,  he  exclaimed: 
"Come,  Joe,  get  your  hat  and  bring  your  finger- 
print layout  along.  It's  up  to  us  to  solve  the  biggest 
murder  case  on  record !" 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  blow  had  fallen  upon  the  Argyle  home  with 
the  force  and  suddenness  of  a  thunderbolt,  and 
the  servants  and  other  members  of  the  household 
were  still  under  the  first  shock  of  terror  and  con- 
sternation. Without  warning,  grim  tragedy  had 
stalked  through  the  house.  The  inmates  had  gone 
as  usual  peacefully  to  bed,  only  to  be  confronted 
the  following  morning  with  a  scene  of  horror. 

It  was  Mr.  Finley,  the  butler,  who  first  missed 
his  master,  and  a  half-witted  boy  named  Andy, 
who  helped  in  the  kitchen,  who  discovered  him  lying 
dead  in  the  library.  Mr.  Finley,  who  spoke  with 
a  slight  Irish  brogue  and  wore  the  long  mutton- 
chop  whiskers  which  tradition  demands  of  every 
self  -  respecting  majordomo,  had  been  in  Mr.  Ar- 
gyle's  service  for  over  thirty  years.  He  was  now 
nearly  sixty,  but  carried  himself  with  dignity,  as 
became  a  domestic  who  had  served  only  in  the  best 
houses.  He  was  a  trusted  retainer  even  when  Bruce 
was  born,  and  as  the  years  rolled  by  he  had  diplo- 
matically made  himself  so  indispensable  to  his  aged 
employer  that  his  position  in  the  household  was 
more  that  of  a  friend  than  a  servant.  Conscious  of 
his  own  importance,  he  had  bitterly  resented  the 
addition  of  Mrs.  Wyatt  to  the  family  circle,  yet  con- 
ceded that  the  adoption  of  a  daughter  called  for 

48 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

special  services,  feminine  in  kind,  which  he  himself 
was  incompetent  to  perform.  He  had  grown  fond 
of  Miss  Mary,  who  had  a  way  of  winning  her  way 
in  every  one's  affections,  but  his  relations  with  the 
housekeeper  were  always  painfully  strained.  Fights 
occurred  almost  every  day,  and  if  there  was  a  lull  in 
the  hostilities  the  most  that  could  be  said  was  that 
each  side  had  called  a  temporary  truce.  Jealous 
of  all  authority  save  that  of  his  master,  Mr.  Fin- 
ley  assumed  airs  of  the  greatest  importance,  and 
bullied  the  under  -  servants  until  they  were  more 
afraid  of  him  than  of  Mr.  Argyle. 

The  discovery  of  the  midnight  tragedy  came  upon 
the  butler  as  a  crushing,  overwhelming  blow,  first 
because  he  had  lost  a  good  and  liberal  master,  sec- 
ondly because  it  wounded  his  vanity  that  such  a 
dreadful  crime  should  have  been  possible  with  him 
close  at  hand  to  prevent  it.  It  was  his  custom  to 
knock  at  his  master's  door  every  morning  at  eight 
o'clock.  He  did  so  as  usual  that  morning,  but  got 
no  reply.  He  knocked  again  and,  still  receiving  no 
response,  feared  that  Mr.  Argyle  might  be  ill,  and 
decided  to  enter.  To  his  surprise,  he  found  the  room 
empty  and  the  bed  intact,  showing  that  it  had  not 
been  slept  in.  Anxiety  gave  way  quickly  to  genuine 
alarm.  Not  knowing  what  to  think  or  do,  he  pro- 
ceeded to  do  the  very  thing  he  should  not  have  done. 
He  hurried  to  Miss  Mary's  room  and  said  he  feared 
something  serious  had  happened  to  his  master.  The 
young  lady  turned  pale — he  recalled  that  distinctly 
afterward  —  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  her  voice 
trembled  when  she  told  him  that  he  had  better  go 
and  look  through  the  house.  Not  for  a  moment 

49 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

expecting  to  find  what  awaited  him — if  he  had  he 
would  never  have  gone — he  went  down-stairs  and 
was  suddenly  startled  by  being  confronted  by  Andy, 
who,  his  face  white  as  chalk,  his  hair  disheveled,  and 
eyes  protruding,  gasped: 

"Quick — in  there — he's  dead!" 

Not  realizing  for  the  moment  what  the  lad  was 
saying,  but  with  a  vague  feeling  of  uneasiness,  he 
groped  his  way  into  the  darkened  library  and,  more 
by  force  of  habit  than  anything  else,  threw  open  one 
of  the  shutters  of  the  big  bay-window.  This  done, 
he  was  stepping  back  when  his  foot  caught  in  some- 
thing lying  on  the  floor,  and  he  nearly  stumbled. 
He  glanced  down  and  fell  back  in  fright.  There  on 
his  back,  fully  dressed,  but  his  hair  disheveled,  his 
clothes  in  disorder,  his  face  livid,  tongue  protruding, 
was  his  master.  All 'about  were  chairs  and  bric-a- 
brac  overturned,  rugs  disarranged  as  if  there  had 
been  a  brief,  desperate  struggle. 

The  terrified  butler  did  not  stop  to  investigate 
further,  but  ran  breathlessly  back  to  Miss  Mary's 
room  to  tell  her  what  he  had  seen.  Never  would  he 
forget  the  expression  on  the  young  girl's  face.  If  she 
herself  had  committed  the  deed,  she  could  not  have 
looked  more  agitated.  Her  face  went  white  as 
death.  He  thought  she  was  going  to  faint.  "In  the 
library!"  she  exclaimed.  How  did  she  know  it  was 
the  library?  He  had  not  said  so.  He  noticed,  too, 
that  her  eyes  were  red  and  swollen  from  weeping, 
that  she  was  fully  dressed,  and  that  her  bed,  too,  was 
undisturbed.  He  remembered  all  these  details  very 
clearly  afterward,  and,  realizing  they  might  prove 
damaging  to  his  young  mistress,  tried  to  forget  them, 

50 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

but  the  police  have  such  a  way  of  asking  questions 
that  it's  very  difficult  to  hide  anything. 

It  was  absurd,  of  course,  to  think  that  a  young 
girl  had  anything  to  do  with  it.  What  motive  could 
she  possibly  have?  Mr.  Argyle  had  always  been 
kind  to  her,  no  matter  what  he  had  been  to  his  son 
and  his  servants.  Could  it  be  Andy  himself  or  that 
footman  they  discharged  a  month  ago,  when  they 
discovered  he  had  a  prison  record?  Certainly  he 
was  a  good-for-nothing  rascal  and  capable  of  any- 
thing. Yet  it  could  not  be  he,  for  his  motive  would 
have  been  robbery,  and  apparently  nothing  had 
been  touched.  Even  the  big  diamond  ring  on  the 
dead  man's  finger  had  not  been  taken.  Was  it  Mr. 
Bruce?  He  did  not  love  his  father  any  too  much. 
Many  an  angry  scene  between  them  had  nearly 
ended  in  blows.  But  Mr.  Bruce  could  easily  prove 
an  alibi.  Had  not  he  himself  let  his  young  master 
out  at  ten  o'clock  ?  Mr.  Argyle  was  still  alive  long 
after  that. 

Of  all  murder  cases  one  ever  heard  this  certainly 
was  the  most  mysterious.  No  wonder  the  police 
and  detectives  were  entirely  at  sea.  Meantime 
nothing  must  be  touched  in  the  library.  Those 
were  the  orders  of  Mr.  Kayton,  the  celebrated  de- 
tective, who  now  had  charge  of  the  case.  Kayton 
or  no  Kayton,  they  must  air  the  room  and  let  a 
little  daylight  in;  so  with  a  lordly  gesture  Mr.  Finley 
summoned  Topp,  the  footman,  to  help  him.  But 
Topp,  a  thin,  clean-shaven  cockney,  and  always  a 
miserable  coward,  did  not  relish  the  job  of  going  so 
near  the  scene  of  the  crime,  and  it  required  con- 
siderable pushing  and  prodding  from  Mr.  Finley,  who 

Si 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

brought  up  the  rear,  to  make  him  enter  the  room. 
The  butler,  with  a  pleasing  sense  of  his  own  im- 
portance, dragged  the  reluctant  Topp  behind  him. 
Sharply  he  said: 

"Ye're  to  draw  the  curtains  an'  air  the  room, 
d'ye  hear?" 

The  shivering  footman  cast  a  terrified  glance 
around  the  dark  room.  Still  lagging  behind,  he 
asked,  fearfully : 

"Do  I  do  it  alone,  Mr.  Finley?  Or  do  I  'ave 
'elp?" 

The  butler  looked  at  his  subordinate  with  the 
utmost  contempt. 

"What  ails  ye,  Topp?" 

The  man  snickered  nervously. 

"The  same  thing  that's  hailin'  you,  maybe." 
Again  drawing  back,  he  exclaimed,  defiantly : "  I  hain't 
goin'  alone  into  the  bloomin'  tomb." 

Mr.  Finley  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  his  face 
took  on  a  distressed  expression,  as  it  always  did 
when  his  subordinates  showed  any  disposition  to 
question  his  authority.  He  did  not  feel  any  too 
comfortable  himself,  but  took  care  not  to  show  it. 
Evidently,  in  this  case  he  himself  would  have  to  set 
a  good  example.  Stroking  his  side  whiskers  to  gain 
courage,  he  pushed  the  footman  aside  and  scornfully 
he  said: 

"Aw,  ye're  worse  than  the  wimmin!  What's  to 
hurt  ye  here  ?  Come  on  wit'  ye." 

Making  a  brave  plunge  into  the  room,  he  went 
directly  toward  the  large  bay-window  with  the 
object  of  throwing  up  the  shades.  Topp,  his  eyes 
still  averted,  followed,  treading  gingerly  on  tiptoe. 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

It  was  so  dark  that  it  was  only  with  the  greatest 
difficulty  that  the  butler  found  his  way.  Suddenly 
he  stumbled  over  a  chair,  which  went  crashing  to  the 
ground.  The  terrified  Topp  gave  a  little  scream. 

"What's  that?"  he  exclaimed,  his  hair  on  end. 

"It's  only  a  chair." 

Topp  breathed  more  freely.  Apologetically  he 
said: 

"I  hain't  the  sort  of  bloke  who  sticks  at  a  thing; 
but  I  don't  fancy  a  room  where  'errors  'ave  'ap- 
pened." 

The  butler  rolled  up  the  whites  of  his  eyes.  Piously 
he  exclaimed: 

"Mister  Argyle  was  as  good  a  master  as  ivver  lived. 
Why  sh'u'd  ye  be  afeard  o'  the  placejwhere  he  died  ?" 

The  footman  made  a  grimace. 

;"E  may  'ave  been  a  good  man,  Mr.  Finley — but 
'e  died  an  unnatural  death." 

Arrived  at  the  recess,  the  butler  lost  no  further 
time  in  argument,  but  threw  open  the  windows,  let- 
ting in  a  flood  of  light.  Losing  patience  with  the 
footman's  cowardice,  he  said,  sharply: 

"Ye  may  be  called  upon  to  do  worse  things  than 
open  the  windies  on  the  scene  of  a  murder — God 
willin'— " 

As  he  spoke  the  door  from  the  hall  opened,  and 
Bruce  entered.  The  footman  did  not  see  who  it 
was.  He  only  heard  the  sound  of  footsteps,  and, 
convinced  that  the  dead  man  had  come  back  to  life, 
he  started  back  in  horror. 

"That's  'im!"  he  exclaimed,  and  before  the  in- 
dignant Mr.  Finley  could  stop  him  he  bolted  for 
the  door  and  dashed  out. 

S3 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

Bruce  looked  after  the  footman  with  surprise. 
Turning  to  the  butler,  he  asked: 

"What's  the  matter  with  the  fellow?" 

Mr.  Finley  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"It's  his  nerves,  sir.  He's  got  a  fear  o'  the 
room." 

He  began  to  pick  up  the  fallen  chairs;  but  Bruce, 
who  was  glancing  uncomfortably  round  the  room, 
quickly  stopped  him  with  a  gesture. 

"Don't  touch  anything  until  Mr.  Kayton  comes." 

"The  detective,  sir?" 

"Yes,  the  detective." 

Having  satisfied  himself  that  everything  had  been 
left  as  it  should  be,  the  young  man  went  back  to  the 
door  and  spoke  to  some  one  waiting  outside  in  the 
hall. 

"Are  you  there,  Nan?" 

"Yes,"  came  the  rejoinder. 

"Will  you  come  in  here,  please?" 

In  the  doorway  appeared  an  attractive,  fashion- 
ably dressed  young  woman  who  paused  apprehen- 
sively on  the  threshold,  as  if  afraid  to  advance 
farther.  Was  she  maid  or  matron?  It  was  im- 
possible to  guess  at  first  glance.  About  twenty 
years  old,  she  was  petite  and  dainty,  one  of  those 
women  who  know  how  to  dress  in  good  taste  on  a 
slender  income,  and  who  look  well  no  matter  what 
they  have  on.  Halting  near  the  door,  she  peered 
timorously  around.  In  an  awe-stricken  whisper  she 
asked: 

"What  are  you  doing  in  here,  Bruce?" 

"Mr.  Kayton  has  just  'phoned  me  to  see  that 
nothing  is  touched  in  this  room  until  he  comes." 

54 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"What  time  will  the  detective  be  here,  sir?"  in- 
quired the  butler,  respectfully. 

The  young  man  took  out  his  watch. 

"Any  time  now,"  he  replied. 

The  butler  hurriedly  went  out  to  make  ready  for 
the  expected  caller,  and  the  young  woman,  taking 
courage,  advanced  farther  into  the  room.  In  a 
hushed,  frightened  voice  she  asked: 

"More  detectives  coming?" 

"Yes;  I  have  engaged  Asche  Kay  ton.  He  takes 
charge  this  morning." 

"Do  you  think  he  can  do  anything  at  this  late 
hour?" 

The  young  man  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Do  anything?  He's  the  cleverest  detective  in 
the  country.  If  he  can't,  nobody  can.  If  only  we'd 
sent  for  him  at  first  we  wouldn't  have  had  the  thing 
all  muddled  up  the  way  it  is  now — with  suspicion 
on  Mary — and  me — and  everybody  else." 

The  young  woman  shook  her  head.  Dubiously 
she  said: 

"Bruce,  I  don't  believe  they'll  ever  find  out  who 
killed  your  father.  It  will  remain  one  of  those 
mysteries  that  are  never  solved." 

The  son  made  no  reply.  This  horror  had  come 
upon  them  all  so  suddenly  that  he  had  not  yet  had 
time  to  think.  All  he  knew  was  that  many  things 
needed  explanation.  Certainly,  robbery  had  not 
been  the  motive,  because  nothing  had  been  touched; 
and  if  it  was  not  robbery,  what  was  the  incentive  ? 
Who  was  most  interested  in  his  father's  death? 
People  had  begun  to  whisper  things.  All  kinds  of 
damaging,  libelous,  outrageous  rumors  were  circu- 

55 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

lating  and  finding  credence  in  the  newspapers. 
Even  he,  the  dead  man's  son,  was  not  above  sus- 
picion. He  felt  that.  People  looked  distrustfully 
at  him  in  the  street.  He  heard  whispers  as  he 
passed.  Conscious  of  his  own  innocence,  he  did  not 
care.  He  could  stand  the  slanderous  gossip.  He 
would  be  at  hand  whenever  they  wanted  him.  But 
that  poor  girl,  his  foster-sister!  It  was  horrible  to 
think  that  her  name,  too,  had  been  dragged  in. 
Slowly  he  answered: 

"If  Kayton  finds  out  enough  to  clear  Mary,  that's 
all  I  ask." 

The  young  wife  approached  him  and  laid  a  hand 
gently  on  his  shoulder.  Sympathetically  she  ex- 
claimed : 

"Oh,  Bruce  dear,  nobody  believes  Mary  or  you 
had  anything  to  do  with  it!" 

"Nobody  that  knows  us,  of  course!  But  what 
about  the  people  that  read  the  newspapers  and  don't 
know  us?  How  is  Mary?" 

Nan  hesitated  a  moment  before  she  answered. 

"She's  so  strange,  Bruce.  She  hasn't  said  a  thing 
about  your  father  since  I  came.  She  simply  won't 
speak  of  it.'* 

"That's  not  surprising.  Mary  never  talks  about 
the  things  that  are  way  down  deep  with  her." 

"And  your  father  liked  her  for  that,  didn't  he?" 

The  young  man  nodded. 

"Yes,  he  could  quarrel  with  me,  but  he  couldn't 
ever  get  a  rise  out  of  Mary.  She'd  just  simply  keep 
quiet — and  get  her  own  way  with  him.  He  never 
forgave  me  for  refusing  to  marry  her,  but  he  never 
quarreled  with  her  for  refusing  me." 

56 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

Nan  smiled. 

"I'm  glad  she  refused,"  she  said,  gently. 

Bruce  put  his  arm  around  her. 

"She  understood  about  you,  Nan,  from  the  first — 
and  she  was  doing  everything  she  could  to  help  us 
with  him.  But  you  know  how  obstinate  he  was!" 
Bitterly  he  added:  "Now  he's  dead  we're  not  much 
better  than  we  were  before.  There's  no  doubt  that 
he  executed  the  new  will.  Indeed,  Mr.  Hurley  has 
told  me  as  much." 

Lovingly,  the  young  wife  put  her  arms  around 
his  neck. 

"Don't  worry,  Bruce  dear.  I  prefer  it  that  way. 
At  least  you'll  know  it  isn't  your  money  I  care  for, 
but  you  yourself.  You'll  make  your  own  money. 
You'll  be  a  success;  I  feel  you  will." 

The  young  man  embraced  her  in  silence.  They 
were  so  engrossed  that  they  did  not  notice  the  door 
open  and  some  one  enter  until  they  heard  a  discreet 
cough  behind  them.  Turning  quickly,  they  saw 
Mrs.  Wyatt. 

The  housekeeper  tripped  lightly  toward  them. 
Her  manner  gushing  and  fussy,  she  said,  apolo- 
getically: 

"Excuse  me.  Good  morning,  Mr.  Bruce.  I 
didn't  know  you  were  here.  Finley  tells  me  that 
Mr.  Kayton,  the  detective,  is  coming." 

The  young  man  nodded. 

"Yes;  I  want  you  to  give  him  all  the  assistance 
in  your  power.  Nothing  must  be  touched  here. 
He  has—" 

But  she  did  not  let  him  finish.  In  her  explosive 
fashion  she  burst  out: 

5  57 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"I  think  you're  perfectly  right.  I  mean  to  say 
those  police  detectives  aren't  getting  anywhere.  We 
don't  know  any  more  than  we  did  at  first!" 

"We  soon  will,  though,"  replied  Bruce,  confidently. 
"This  man  Kay  ton  is  a  perfect  wonder.  He'll  find 
some  clue  that  all  the  police  detectives  have  missed." 
Turning  to  his  wife,  he  added  hastily:  "I've  got  to  go 
now,  Nan.  The  lawyers  have  sent  for  me.  But 
I'll  be  right  back." 

Kissing  the  young  woman  lightly  on  the  cheek,  he 
hurried  out  of  the  room. 

For  a  few  moments  after  his  departure  the  two 
women  sat  and  looked  at  each  other  without  speak- 
ing, Nan  glad  enough  to  be  alone  with  her  thoughts, 
realizing  painfully  as  she  did  that  it  was  she  who 
had  been  the  cause  of  the  tragedy.  But  it  was  a 
physical  impossibility  for  Mrs.  Wyatt  to  remain 
quiet.  The  terrible  crime  had  sobered  her  to  some 
extent,  but  her  tongue  could  not  be  curbed  for  any 
great  length  of  time.  Chafing  under  the  long  silence, 
she  could  finally  not  stand  it  any  longer.  Suddenly 
she  burst  out: 

"This  house  has  been  my  home  for  twenty  years 
— ever  since  Mary  was  taken  into  the  family — but 
it  never  will  be  again.  I  mean  to  say  I  never  could 
feel  at  home  in  a  house  where  there'd  been  a  murder. 
I  suppose  I'm  peculiar,  but  it  doesn't  make  any 
difference  whether  the  room  is  opened  or  locked  up, 
I  can't  go  by  without  feeling  it.  Do  you  know  what 
I  mean?  I  suppose  Mary '11  sell  the  place.  Have 
you  heard  her  say  anything  about  it?" 

Not  wishing  to  encourage  the  housekeeper  to 
discuss  family  matters,  the  young  woman  answered 

58 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

only  in  monosyllables.  Shaking  her  head  she 
said: 

"Oh  no." 

But  the  voluble  Mrs.  Wyatt  was  not  to  be  put 
off  so  easily. 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  of  that  will?" 

"I  think  it  is  very  unjust,"  replied  Nan,  decisively. 

The  housekeeper  shook  her  head  in  sympathy. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Argyle  certainly  was  a  very  strange 
man.  I  don't  want  to  say  anything  disagreeable 
about  the  dead,  but  it's  hard  to  understand  how  a 
man  could  cut  his  son  off  without  a  cent  and  leave 
a  fortune  to  a  girl  who's  in  no  way  related  to  him. 

Nan  shook  her  head.     Confidently  she  said: 

"I  don't  believe  Mary  will  let  that  will  stand." 

The  housekeeper  shrugged  her  shoulders.  Her 
lips  tightened,  and  her  voice  sounded  harsh  and 
bitter  as  she  said: 

"I'd  say  that,  too,  if  I  didn't  know  human  nature 
as  well  as  I  do.  Mary's  a  dear  girl,  but  money 
changes  people." 

"Not  Mary,"  interrupted  Nan,  warmly. 

"I  mean  to  say,  take  a  perfectly  fair-minded 
person,  like  Mary,  generous  to  a  fault,  and  you  never 
can  tell  what  money  will  bring  out  in  them — do  you 
know  what  I  mean?" 

Before  the  young  wife  could  answer  there  was  a 
knock  at  the  door  and  the  butler  entered.  With  an 
air  of  offended  dignity,  he  said,  pompously: 

"Mrs.  Wyatt,  that  detective  has  come." 

The  housekeeper  rose,  an  expression  of  annoyance 
on  her  face.  More  detectives?  For  the  last  forty- 
eight  hours  the  house  had  been  overrun  with  them. 

59 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

Really,  they  got  on  a  woman's  nerves  with  all  their 
impudent  questions.  What  good  were  the  police? 
They  were  no  closer  to  the  murderer  than  they  were 
at  first,  and  this  man  Asche  Kayton  would  probably 
be  just  as  stupid  as  all  the  rest.  Still,  if  the  family 
wished  it,  it  must  be  done.  Resignedly  she  said: 

"Mr.  Kayton — oh — well — I  suppose  you'd  better 
bring  him  right  in  here,  Finley." 

"Very  well,  ma'am,"  snapped  the  butler,  viciously. 

He  retired,  and  Nan  went  hastily  toward  the  door. 

"Hadn't  we  better  go?"  she  said. 

The  housekeeper  nodded,  and  also  rose. 

"Yes — yes.  I  don't  want  to  see  him.  I  mean  to 
say  I've  seen  detectives  enough  during  the  past 
forty-eight  hours  to  last  me  for  the  rest  of  my  life. 
They're  such  horrid,  inquisitive  people.  You  know 
what  I  mean." 

The  two  women  hastily  left  the  room,  closing  the 
door  behind  them.  A  minute  later  the  butler  re- 
entered,  followed  by  Mr.  Kayton  and  Joe. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  detective's  first  step  was  to  go  to  the  win- 
dows and  throw  up  all  the  blinds.  Then  he 
stood  still,  in  contemplative  silence,  his  experienced 
eye  going  carefully  over  every  detail  of  the  room, 
noting  the  position  of  each  piece  of  bric-a-brac  and 
furniture. 

Joe,  meantime,  approached  Mr.  Finley,  who  stood 
by,  an  expression  of  offended  dignity  on  his  sleek 
face,  resenting  this  invasion  of  the  premises  and 
meddling  by  men  who  were  not  even  regular  police 
officers,  but  outsiders  who  did  it  only  for  money. 
As  if  there  was  any  chance  of  success  with  such  a 
low,  mercenary  class  of  people  as  that! 

"I  suppose  the  police  and  detectives  from  head- 
quarters have  mauled  everything  about?  Or  is  this 
the  way  the  furniture  was  found?"  asked  Joe, 
sharply. 

The  butler  eyed  the  speaker  scornfully,  taking  him 
in  from  head  to  foot.  Haughtily  he  replied: 

"Nothing  was  disturbed  on  this  side.  Every- 
thing was  as  you  see  it."  Pointing  to  the  right,  he 
added:  "But  on  this  side  everything  was  helter- 
skelter  just  as  it  is  now." 

Joe  gave  his  chief  a  questioning  glance. 

"I  wonder  how  that  happened?" 

The  butler  chuckled.  He  had  his  opinion  of 

61 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

these    so-called    detectives.      Sarcastically    he    re- 
torted : 

"If  you  knew  that  and  had  your  supper,  you  could 
go  to  bed." 

The  assistant  smiled  grimly.  Turning  to  the  but- 
ler, he  asked,  dryly: 

"You're  Irish,  ain't  you?" 

Kayton,  who  had  been  watching  them  with  some 
amusement,  laughed  outright.  Approvingly  he  ex- 
claimed : 

"Joe,  you're  a  great  detective!"  Addressing  Mr. 
Finley,  he  added:  "Tell  me,  my  man,  has  anything 
been  touched  here  since  the  night  of  the  murder?" 

Offended  at  the  shocking  familiarity  with  which 
he  was  addressed,  the  butler  shook  his  head 
haughtily. 

"I  can't  tell  you,"  he  replied,  sullenly. 

Kayton  looked  at  the  man  searchingly.  Was  he 
hiding  anything?  Did  he  know  more  than  he  was 
willing  to  admit?  He  would  soon  find  out.  One 
of  his  favorite  methods  was  a  process  of  elimination. 
Each  member  of  the  household  was  under  suspicion 
and  subject  to  cross-examination  until  he  was  satis- 
fied that  he  or  she  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  case. 
Sharply  he  said: 

"The  body  was  lying  on  this  side  of  the  room?" 

"That's  as  maybe,"  replied  Finley,  doggedly. 

Joe  nudged  him  in  the  ribs.     Warningly  he  said: 

"Say,  you'd  better  open  up.  You  may  get  the 
chair  in  this  case  yourself  yet." 

The  butler  glared  at  the  interrupter.  Thorough- 
ly aroused  and  reckless  of  what  he  said,  he  retorted, 
savagely : 

62 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"I'll  will  you  me  wits,  then.  You'll  be  needin' 
'em." 

Kayton  drew  his  assistant  aside. 

"I'll  fix  him,"  he  whispered.     "What's  his  name?" 

"Finley." 

The  chief  leisurely  removed  his  coat,  as  if  about  to 
get  busy.  Then,  turning  to  his  aid,  he  said,  carelessly : 

"Joe,  go  and  bring  Mr.  Finley  in  here.  He's  the 
man  to  help  us." 

"That's  Mr.  Finley,"  replied  the  assistant,  point- 
ing to  the  butler. 

Kayton  turned  to  the  butler  as  if  greatly  sur- 
prised. 

"Are  you  Mr.  Finley?" 

"I  am,"  answered  the  butler,  drawing  himself  up. 

The  detective  laughed.  Good-humoredly  he  ex- 
claimed: 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  us  that  at  first?  I  am  well 
aware  of  your  confidential  relations  with  the  house- 
hold and  your  late  master,  Mr.  Finley.  The  family 
has  always  spoken  in  the  highest  terms  of  you.  I 
need  your  help.  You're  in  a  position  to  be  of  great 
assistance  to  us." 

Flattered  more  by  the  detective's  manner  than  his 
actual  words,  the  butler's  bosom  swelled  with  pride. 
More  affably  he  said: 

"Well,  sir,  I'll  tell  you  one  thing — I  want  to  be 
right  candid.  I  don't  take  much  stock  in  detec- 
tives." 

Kayton  nodded  approval. 

"You're  quite  right,"  he  laughed.  "They're  a 
bad  lot."  Quickly  he  added:  "What  have  you  got 
against  them  in  particular?" 

63 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

The  butler  frowned.     Indignantly  he  said: 

"Men  with  so  little  intelligence  as  to  try  and  put 
suspicion  on  such  a  young  girl  as  Miss  Mary — as 
innocent  and  harmless  a  young  woman  as  ever 
lived.  I've  no  patience  with  such  scoundrels. 
They'll  get  no  assistance  from  me  in  that  kind  of 
work,  or  from  any  other  honest  man." 

Kayton  nodded. 

"You're  quite  right,  Mr.  Finley.  The  innocent 
must  be  cleared  and  the  guilty  brought  to  justice. 
That's  why  we're  here.  Now  tell  us  the  facts  as 
you  know  them.  You  found  the  body?" 

The  butler  shook  his  head. 

"Yes — sir — that  is,  I  missed  the  master.  I 
knocked  at  his  door  in  the  usual  way,  but  he  did 
not  answer.  I  was  alarmed  and  opened  the  door, 
thinking  he  was  ill  or  something.  When  I  saw  the 
bed  hadn't  been  slept  in  I  was  still  more  alarmed. 
No  sign  of  the  master.  I  went  to  Miss  Mary  and 
told  her—" 

Kayton  interrupted  him. 

"Oh,  you  told  Miss  Masuret?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"What  time  was  it?" 

"About  eight  o'clock,  sir." 

"Was  Miss  Masuret  up?" 

"Yes — sir.    She  came  to  the  door  fully  dressed." 

"Fully  dressed." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Was  it  usual  for  Miss  Masuret  to  be  dressed  so 
early?" 

"No,  sir.  I've  never  known  her  to  be  up  so  early 
before." 

64 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"What  did  she  say?" 

"She  was  very  nervous.  Her  face  was  white,  and 
she  was  all  agitated.  I  thought  she  was  ill." 

Kayton  paused  and  made  quick  mental  notes. 
The  adopted  daughter,  chief  beneficiary  under  the 
will,  was  agitated  on  being  informed  of  the  murder. 
That  was  only  natural.  But  she  was  fully  dressed 
at  a  very  unusual  hour  of  the  morning.  This  cer- 
tainly would  bear  investigating  further.  Turning 
again  to  the  butler,  he  went  on: 

"Oh,  you  found  her  so  pale  and  agitated  that  you 
thought  she  was  ill,  and  she  was  completely  dressed 
at  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Had  her  bed  been  slept  in?" 

"I  did  not  notice,  sir." 

"What  did  she  say?" 

"She  didn't  know  what  to  say.  I  went  down- 
stairs and  was  just  wondering  what  to  do  when 
suddenly  the  man,  Andy,  ran  into  me.  'He's  dead!' 
he  cried. '  'Stark  dead  on  the  floor  in  there!'  'Who's 
dead?'  says  I.  'Mr.  Argyle,'  says  he — 

"Who's  Andy?"  demanded  Kayton. 

"Dan  Scully's  boy." 

"How  long  has  he  been  here?" 

"Time  out  of  mind — nearly  as  long  as  myself." 

"What  does  he  do?" 

"He  makes  himself  useful  where  I  tell  him  to. 
He's  a  simple  soul." 

"Send  for  him,"  commanded  Kayton,  sharply. 
While  Finley  was  ringing  the  bell  he  inquired:  "Who 
else  was  in  the  house?" 

"Myself;  Miss  Mary;  the  girl,  Kitty;  Topp,  the 

65 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

footman;  and  the  cook.  Mrs.  Wyatt  was  away; 
Mr.  Bruce,  Mr.  Argyle's  son,  was  here  for  dinner 
that  night,  but  went  away  early." 

Kayton  looked  up  quickly. 

"Did  you  see  him  go?"  he  demanded. 

"I  did  not.  By  eleven  o'clock  I  made  fast  for  the 
night — with  Mr.  Argyle  sittin'  in  here  and  Miss 
Mary  in  her  room  up-stairs." 

Before  the  detective  could  put  further  questions 
the  door  opened  and  the  housemaid  entered  the  room 
in  answer  to  the  bell.  Addressing  the  butler,  she 
said: 

"Did  you  ring  for  me?" 

"Yes,  Kitty.     Bring  Andy  here." 

"Yes,  sirX 

She  left  the  room,  and  Finley  turned  to  the  de- 
tective. Shaking  his  head  sagely,  he  said: 

"  How  them  that  did  it  got  in,  that's  the  thing  for 
you  to  learn,  sir.  But  when  they  had  done  it,  they 
went  out  the  hall  through  the  front  door,  for  in 
the  morning  I  found  the  small  chain  off  and  the  bolt 
drawn,  and  let  me  tell  you  this,  sir — there's  nothin' 
but  wickedness  in  this  doubt  of  Miss  Mary." 

While  he  was  speaking  a  shock  of  red  hair  was 
thrust  inside  the  door  as  if  the  owner  were  afraid  to 
let  more  of  himself  be  seen.  But  with  a  peremptory 
gesture  the  butler  motioned  him  to  advance. 

"Andy,  come  here!" 

The  youth  entered,  dragging  his  unwilling  feet 
along  with  a  timid,  frightened  shuffle.  He  was  tall, 
ungainly,  and  loose-limbed,  and  had  on  a  blue-denim 
workman's  blouse.  His  face  and  hands  were  grimy, 
his  mouth  wide  open  in  a  grimace  of  terror.  His  eyes, 

66 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

dilated  with  fear,  were  fixed  on  the  detective. 
Spurred  by  more  threatening  gestures  from  Mr. 
Finley,  he  advanced  slowly  into  the  room,  uncon- 
sciously making  an  effort  to  conceal  his  tatters  and 
improve  his  appearance.  Suddenly  he  came  to  a 
halt  and  waited.  Kayton,  who  had  been  watching 
the  lad  narrowly,  carefully  noting  every  fleeting 
change  of  expression,  turned  to  Finley,  but  his  eyes 
were  still  fixed  on  the  shivering  lad  as  he  asked: 

"Andy  came  first  to  you?" 

The  butler  nodded. 

"  He  did,  and  it  was  I  that  told  Miss  Mary.  When 
we  found  he  was  dead  she  got  Mr.  Bruce  here 
straightaway  and  the  doctors,  and  they  the  police, 
and  from  that  it  began — trouble  without  end.  Re- 
porters, photographers — " 

Kayton  turned  abruptly  to  the  trembling  boy. 

"Andy,  did  you  hear  anything  in  the  night?" 

Paralyzed  by  fright,  the  lad  gave  no  answer. 
Kayton  repeated  the  question. 

"Andy,  did  you  hear  anything  in  the  night?" 

Looking  up  in  an  awe-stricken  way,  he  shook  his 
head.  Slowly  he  stammered: 

"No— no." 

"Trust  him  to  hear  anything,"  laughed  the  butler, 
derisively. 

His  eyes  still  riveted  on  the  youth,  Kayton  de- 
manded: 

"What  time  did  you  go  to  bed?" 

Fidgeting  about  with  his  feet,  Andy  looked  help- 
lessly at  Mr.  Finley,  who  finally  had  pity  on  him  and 
came  to  the  rescue. 

"  Bless  you,  sir — he  don't  know.  He  don't  live  by 

6? 


THE   ARGYLE   CASE 

the  clock.     He  goes  to  bed  by  habit  and  gets  up  by 
habit." 

Kayton  made  another  careful  survey  around  the 
room,  and  then  turned  to  the  butler. 

"Is  the  furniture  as  it  is  now  pretty  much  as  you 
found  it?" 

Andy,  shaking  like  an  aspen  leaf  and  anxious  to 
escape,  nervously  took  hold  of  the  butler  by  the  arm. 
Shaking  him  off,  Mr.  Finley  exclaimed,  impatiently : 

"Go  along  with  you!"  Answering  the  detective's 
question,  he  said:  "Yes,  sir;  all  wheeled  about  every 
which  way.  Nothin's  as  it  should  be.  He  made  a 
hard  fight  to  defend  himself — God  help  us! — before 
they  put  death  on  him." 

"Where  was  the  body?" 

The  butler  pointed  to  where  Joe  was  standing. 

"There,  where  your  man  is."  Indicating  another 
corner,  he  added:  "And  the  pistol  was  yonder." 

"Was  he  lying  on  his  back?" 

The  butler  nodded. 

"On  his  back,  to  one  side,  with  the  table-cloth 
clutched  in  his  hand."  Turning  to  the  still  trembling 
helper,  he  said:  "Andy,  lay  yourself  down  there  and 
show  the  officer.  Go  on!  Go  on!" 

Frightened  out  of  his  wits,  yet  still  more  afraid  to 
disobey,  the  lad  started  to  get  down  on  the  floor  when 
suddenly  he  sprang  up  again  with  a  grimace. 

"Not  me,"  he  cried;  "there's  bad  luck  in  it!" 

Kayton  made  an  impatient  gesture  of  dismissal. 
He  had  seen  enough  to  convince  him  they  were  only 
wasting  time  examining  such  a  witness  as  that. 

"Never  mind,"  he  said;  "you  can  go  now. 
That's  all  for  the  present." 

68 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

The  youth  did  not  need  telling  twice.  With  a 
skip  and  a  hop  he  was  out  of  the  room. 

Kayton  now  went  to  the  table,  and,  taking  up  one 
end  of  the  cloth,  he  said: 

"You  say  this  cloth  was  dragged  from  the  table?" 

"About  half-way,  sir — and  some  books  on  top  of 
him." 

"When  was  this  cover  put  back?" 

"That's  hard  to  say,  sir." 

"It  may  be  very  important." 

The  butler  scratched  his  head,  as  if  trying  to  re- 
freshen his  memory.  Hesitatingly  he  said: 

"Well,  I  remember  I  was  straightening  up  the 
room  when  one  of  the  doctors  came  in.  He  stopped 
me  till  the  coroner  should  come;  but  I  had  already 
put  back  the  cloth  and  those  three  books." 

"Has  it  been  touched  since?" 

"It  has  not — not  so  much  as  dusted." 

Kayton  nodded  approval.  Then,  consulting  a 
little  memorandum  which  he  carried  in  the  palm 
of  his  hand,  he  said: 

"I  want  to  see  the  footman,  Mr.  Finley." 

The  butler  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"He'll  be  unwillin'  to  come,  sir." 

Kayton  looked  at  him  sternly.  Firmly  and  de- 
cisively he  said: 

"Finley,  I  want  to  see  the  footman." 

"Very  good,  sir." 

The  butler  went  out  with  alacrity  and  closed  the 
door  behind  him.  Directly  he  had  disappeared 
Kayton  made  a  quick  gesture  to  his  assistant. 

"Come,  Joe;  let's  see  if  we've  got  anything  on  the 
table." 

69 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

Hurrying  to  the  table,  they  carefully  lifted  off  the 
cloth. 

"Be  careful  of  that  cloth!"  warned  the  chief. 
"Have  you  got  your  powder?" 

Joe  nodded,  and,  taking  a  tube  of  powder,  sprinkled 
it  carefully  all  over  the  top  of  the  table.  When  the 
surface  was  completely  covered  Kay  ton  stooped  and 
blew  the  powder  all  off.  Then,  quickly,  he  leaned 
over,  magnifying-glass  in  hand,  to  see  if  there  were 
any  marks.  Shaking  his  head,  he  said: 

"Nothing  there — try  over  here.  Looks  like  a  cold 
trail.  Hello!  Here's  something!" 

Examining  closely  with  the  glass  the  upper  end 
of  the  table,  he  exclaimed: 

"A  woman  has  been  holding  on  here  with  both 
her  hands." 

"It  might  have  been  Miss  Masuret,"  whispered 
Joe. 

"She  was  sitting  down.  It's  very  plain.  Here 
are  her  eight  finger-prints.  Get  busy,  Joe!  See  if 
you  can  get  the  thumbs  under  the  edge  there." 

"All  right,  governor." 

Quickly  the  assistant  went  to  work  to  secure  the 
finger-prints,  arranging  a  pocket  camera  to  take 
photographs  when  the  powder  had  brought  out  the 
marks  on  the  table  with  sufficient  clearness.  He 
was  still  busy  at  work,  while  his  superior  was  ex- 
amining the  furniture  at  the  other  end  of  the  room, 
when  suddenly  the  library  door  opened  and  Mrs. 
Wyatt  entered. 

Considerably  nettled  that  the  detectives  should 
have  proceeded  with  the  investigation  without  even 
taking  the  trouble  to  consult  her,  the  housekeeper 

70 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

was  not  in  the  most  amiable  mood.  Surveying  the 
detective  from  head  to  foot,  she  said,  haughtily: 

"Mr.  Kay  ton,  I  presume?" 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  laconically. 

Tossing  up  her  head,  she  went  on: 

"I  suppose  you  know  who  I  am?" 

He  looked  at  her  inquiringly,  but  without  dis- 
playing any  great  interest. 

Piqued,  she  said,  grandly: 

"I'm  Mrs.  Wyatt." 

He  nodded  carelessly. 

"Oh  yes.     Good  morning,  Mrs.  Wyatt." 

She  was  nonplussed  for  the  moment,  not  know- 
ing whether  to  be  angry  or  not.  Finally  she  said, 
with  a  forced  smile: 

"I  trust  you  found  everything  as  you  wanted  it?" 

"Oh  yes,"  he  replied,  laconically. 

"Do  you  need  anything  else?" 

"No,  thank  you." 

"Is  there  anything  I  can  do?" 

He  thought  for  a  moment. 

"Well—" 

With  an  affected  smirk  meant  to  be  amiable,  she 
said: 

"Mr.  Bruce  ought  to  be  here  soon.  He  said  he'd 
come  right  back,  and  it's  almost  eleven  now.  Is 
there  anything  you  want  to  ask  me?" 

"Yes,  there  is." 

He  nodded  gravely,  fixing  his  eyes  on  her  in  a 
manner  that  frightened  her.  Startled,  she  ex- 
claimed: 

"I  wasn't  here  when  it  happened,  you  know!  I 
mean  to  say,  I  don't  know  any  more  about  it  than 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

you  do;  but  I  suppose  you  know  a  great  deal.  Oh, 
I'm  so  disappointed.  You  don't  look  at  all  like  a 
detective." 

He  smiled,  and,  coming  down  to  where  she  was 
standing,  offered  her  a  chair. 

"I'm  sorry  to  disappoint  you.  Some  of  us  try 
to  look  like  gentlemen.  Won't  you  be  seated, 
Mrs.  Wyatt?  When  did  Mr.  Argyle  adopt  Miss 
Masuret?" 

"Mary?  Why,  I  don't  know.  She  was  just  a 
little  thing.  I  don't  believe  she  was  more  than  six, 
but  I  really  don't  know  much  about  it.  I  mean  to 
say,  I  wasn't  there.  It  was  in  San  Francisco,  you 
know.  Mr.  Argyle  and  Mr.  Masuret  were  the  dear- 
est friends." 

"What  was  Mr.  Masuret's  first  name?" 

"I  think  it  was  James.  Yes,  I  know  it  was.  It 
was  James." 

"What  became  of  her  mother?" 

"Oh,  she  died  there." 

"In  San  Francisco?" 

"Yes.  I  really  don't  know  much  about  her. 
Her  maiden  name  was  Marsh — Nellie  Marsh." 

"Nellie  Marsh,  eh?"  exclaimed  Kayton,  in  a  tone 
that  caused  Joe  to  look  up.  At  a  gesture  from  his 
employer  the  young  man  took  out  a  memorandum 
and  made  a  hasty  note  of  the  name. 

Mrs.  Wyatt  smiled  amiably  as  she  went  on  gush- 
ingly: 

"That's  all  I  can  tell  you.  I  really  don't  know 
how  I  remember  that.  As  I  said,  I've  never  heard 
much  about  the  mother,  except  that  there  was  some 
scandal  about  her." 

72 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

Kayton  looked  up  quickly. 

"Scandal ?     In  what  way ? " 

"I  really  can't  say.  Mr.  Argyle  never  could  be 
persuaded  to  talk  about  her.  It  was  entirely  on 
account  of  Mr.  Masuret  that  he  became  interested 
in  Mary." 

"Entirely?" 

"Oh  yes — entirely." 

The  detective  was  silent  for  a  moment;  then 
abruptly  he  asked : 

"How  long  have  you  lived  here?" 

"Oh,  many,  many  years— 

"As  long  as  that?"  he  smiled. 

Hastily  checking  herself,  she  stammered  in  some 
confusion : 

"I  mean  to  say  it  must  be  sixteen — ever  since  my 
husband  died.  I'm  a  widow — do  you  know  what  I 
mean?  I'm  a  very  old  friend  of  the  family,  and 
when  Mr.  Argyle  adopted  Mary  he  felt  that  he 
must  have  a  woman  in  the  house." 

Kayton  bowed  as  if  he  was  in  complete  sympathy 
with  the  idea.  Suddenly  he  demanded: 

"Tell  me,  Mrs.  Wyatt,  how  were  the  relations 
between  Mr.  Argyle  and  his  son?" 

Forgetting  for  the  moment  who  she  was  speaking 
to,  she  exclaimed : 

"Now,  doctor — I  beg  your  pardon." 

"  Beg  the  doctor's,"  he  smiled. 

She  laughed  lightly  as  she  rattled  on. 

"I  mean  to  say,  Mr.  Kayton — that's  something 

I  don't  like  to  talk  about.     It  was  the  only  thing  we 

had  to  make  us  unhappy.     Do  you  know  what  I 

mean?     Bruce  and  his  father  never  seemed  to  agree 

6  73 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

about  anything.  Why,  the  last  time  they  quarreled 
he  cut  him  off  and  left  everything  to  Mary.  We 
didn't  any  of  us  know  it  till  yesterday.  It's  too  bad 
to  have  Bruce  left  without  anything.  He's  an  artist, 
you  know,  and  of  course  artists  can't  make  anything 
with  their  art.  I  mean  to  say,  if  they  don't  have 
money  they  never  get  anywhere,  unless  they're 
famous  or  something,  and  that  doesn't  happen  very 
often — do  you  know  what  I  mean?  That  night, 
Mary  tells  us,  there  had  been  a  reconciliation.  It's 
too  bad  it  came  too  late  to  have  him  fix  over  his  will. 
Mr.  Hurley  says  he  executed  it  the  very  night  he 
was  killed." 

"Mr.  Hurley?"  exclaimed  the  detective. 

"Yes;   Mr.  Hurley's  his  lawyer." 

"Oh  yes,  yes,  of  course." 

Again  Mr.  Kayton  took  a  mental  note.  Mr. 
Hurley  saw  the  banker  the  very  evening  he  was 
murdered  and  had  a  talk  with  him  about  drawing  up 
a  new  will.  He  knew  this  man  Hurley  by  name. 
His  reputation  was  not  of  the  best,  but  perhaps  he 
would  be  able  to  throw  some  light  on  the  old  man's 
attitude  toward  his  son  and  the  feelings  of  Bruce 
toward  his  father.  Decidedly,  Mr.  Hurley  was 
worth  an  interview. 

Mrs.  Wyatt,  gratified  at  last  that  she  had  suc- 
ceeded in  saying  something  that  seemed  to  interest 
the  detective,  continued: 

"Mr.  Hurley  will  be  here  himself  presently.  I 
telephoned  him  and  told  him  that  Bruce  and  the 
executors  had  put  the  case  in  your  hands,  and  that 
you  were  here.  You  know  things  were  getting  terri- 
ble. The  newspapers — why,  they  don't  seem  to  care 

74 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

at  all  what  they  say — do  you  know  what  I  mean? 
Mary's  prostrated.  Why,  they  might  as  well  accuse 
me  of  murder  as  Mary!  Of  course,  I'm  positive  it 
was  burglars — do  you  know  what  I  mean?" 

The  detective  rose  and  paced  the  floor.  With  a 
shade  of  impatience  in  his  voice  he  said : 

"Yes,  yes;  I'd  like  to  see  Miss  Masuret." 

Taking  the  hint,  Mrs.  Wyatt  moved  nervously 
toward  the  door.  As  she  reached  it  she  turned 
and  said: 

"Oh — well — I  don't  know — I  mean  to  say — if  you 
want  to,  I  suppose  you  must.  I'll  go  right  to  her 
now." 

Turning  on  her  heel,  she  tripped  out  of  the  room 
as  lightly  as  she  had  come  in. 


CHAPTER  VII 

VTEVER-FAIL  KAYTON  rubbed  his  hands  with 
*•  i  satisfaction.  So  far,  so  good.  Everything  was 
going  as  well  as  he  could  wish.  He  had  examined 
several  of  the  servants  to  whom  suspicion  might 
attach,  and  was  thoroughly  convinced  of  their  in- 
nocence. The  process  of  elimination  had  begun. 
He  had  learned  at  least  two  things  that  might 
lead  to  important  clues:  one  was  that  Miss  Masuret 
did  not  go  to  bed  on  the  night  of  the  murder;  the 
other  that  Mr.  Hurley,  the  lawyer,  had  an  inter- 
view with  the  banker  that  evening  and  consulted 
him  about  changing  his  will.  Still  another  find, 
and  perhaps  the  most  important,  were  the  prints 
of  a  woman's  hands  on  the  table  in  the  room  where 
the  murder  took  place.  Who  was  that  woman  ?  If 
he  could  only  find  that  woman  who  was  in  the 
room  and  saw  the  old  man  murdered,  he  would  be 
very  close  to  the  murderer. 

Going  over  to  his  assistant,  who  was  still  busy 
getting  the  prints  from  the  table,  he  said  hastily: 

"Joe,  when  youVe  finished,  go  and  get  the  finger- 
prints of  all  the  women  who  were  in  the  house  the 
night  of  the  murder.  Don't  miss  anybody." 

"Very  well,  gov'nor." 

As  he  spoke  Mr.  Finley  re-entered  the  room,  fol- 
lowed by  the  footman. 

76 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"Here  is  Topp,  sir,"  said  the  butler,  deferen- 
tially. 

The  detective  looked  the  man  quickly  over  from 
head  to  foot.  Satisfied  with  his  scrutiny,  he  turned 
to  his  assistant  and  said  quietly: 

"Get  his  prints,  Joe."  Then,  turning  suddenly  on 
the  trembling  lackey,  he  demanded  sharply: 

"Now,  my  man — tell  the  truth — how  did  you  come 
to  be  mixed  up  in  this  murder?" 

The  little  cockney  turned  pale.  He  knew  it — 
they  were  going  to  charge  him  with  killing  his 
master.  Panic-stricken,  he  exclaimed: 

"S'  'elp  me  Gawd,  I  'ad  no  'and  in  it!" 

Kayton  smiled  grimly.  Shrugging  his  shoulders, 
he  replied,  skeptically: 

"That  remains  to  be  seen.  Come — out  with  it. 
What  were  you  doing  that  night?" 

Topp  looked  at  his  interlocutor  aghast. 

"Me,  sir?  I'm  a  man  of  hearly  hours  an'  quiet 
'abits.  I  'ad  read  my  hevenin'  paiper  an'  was  in 
me  bed  by  'alf  past  ten."  H 

"Did  you  hear  anything  in  the  night?" 

The  man  shook  his  head. 

"Naw.  I  go  to  bed  to  sleep.  It's  not  me  plaice 
to  be  listenin'  an'  spyin'." 

The  detective  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Sarcasti- 
cally he  said: 

"You're  one  of  those  very  heavy  sleepers,  I  sup- 
pose?" 

"No,  sir.  I'm  a  very  light  sleeper.  You  kin 
wake  me  with  a  whisper." 

"How  did  it  happen,  then,  that  you  slept  all 
through  a  murder?"  demanded  Kayton,  sternly. 

77 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"I  didn't  saiy  I  slept  through  a  murder,"  was  the 
shrewd  answer. 

"You  say  you  didn't  hear  anything.  What  did 
you  do?" 

"I  'ad  an  uneasy  night,  and  at  three  in  the  morn- 
in'  I  got  up  an'  opened  me  window." 

"Did  you  notice  anything  unusual?" 

"I  can't  saiy  that  it  was  unusual,"  replied  the 
man,  cautiously. 

"No?    What  was  it?" 

The  footman  hesitated. 

"It's  not  my  plaice— 

The  little  cockney  was  keeping  something  back. 
That  was  very  evident.  Sharply  the  detective  ex- 
claimed : 

"Come!  No  beating  about  the  bush!  It  will  be 
all  the  worse  for  you.  What  was  it?" 

Mr.  Finley  also  had  noticed  the  footman's  hesi- 
tation. Giving  his  subordinate  a  prod  in  the  ribs, 
he  whispered: 

"What's  the  matter  with  ye,  man?    Out  with  it." 

But  Topp  still  hesitated.  He  did  know  some- 
thing, but  had  he  not  always  been  taught  that 
silence  is  golden?  He  might  only  get  into  trouble 
if  he  told  what  he  had  seen.  Finally,  with  reluct- 
ance, he  said: 

"I  saw  a  light." 

Kayton  looked  up  quickly. 

"Where?"  he  demanded. 

The  footman  made  no  answer,  but  turned  appeal- 
ingly  to  the  butler,  as  if  for  protection.  He  got 
little  sympathy  in  that  quarter.  Eying  him  stern- 
ly, Mr.  Finley  said: 

78 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"Go  on!  Don't  be  so  foolish.  Out  with  it!  Tell 
the  officer  all  you  know." 

Topp  gave  vent  to  a  deep  sigh.  Hesitatingly  he 
said: 

"Well,  sir,  since  you  will  'ave  it,  it  was  in  the  room 
below  me." 

Quickly  the  detective  turned  to  the  butler. 

"What  room  is  that,  Finley?" 

It  was  the  butler's  turn  now  to  hesitate.  He  had 
been  a  faithful  servant  in  the  Argyle  home  for  over 
a  quarter  of  a  century.  It  was  hard  that  after  all 
these  years  he  should  be  asked  to  testify  against 
one  who  had  always  been  kind  to  him.  Reluctantly 
he  answered: 

"Why,  sir,  that's  Miss  Mary's  room;    but — " 

"Miss  Masuret's  room!"  exclaimed  Kayton,  in 
surprise.  Turning  quickly  to  the  footman,  he  went 
on:  "What  did  you  do?" 

"I  went  back  to  bed,  an'  I  was  there  when  they 
waikened  me." 

The  detective  made  a  gesture  of  dismissal. 

"That's  all  for  the  present.     You  may  go." 

The  footman  hastily  left  the  room;  and  Kayton, 
turning  to  the  butler,  said,  quietly: 

"Now,  get  the  maid  Kitty." 

Mr.  Finley  went  toward  the  door  to  summon  the 
girl.  Before  he  reached  it  he  halted  and  turned 
round.  There  was  an  anxious  expression  on  his 
face  as  he  said,  hesitatingly: 

"I  might  say,  sir,  I  think  it  would  be  nothin* 
unusual  for  Miss  Mary  to  have  a  light  in  her  room." 

Kayton  made  no  reply;  and  the  butler,  with  a 
sigh,  went  to  the  door  and  called  the  girl  in. 

79 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

As  Kitty  entered,  frightened  and  apprehensive  like 
all  the  other  servants,  he  said,  in  a  tragic  undertone 
which  did  not  tend  to  reassure  her: 

"You're  wanted  by  the  detective,  girl." 

"What  for?"  she  asked,  with  a  shiver. 

Kayton,  who  was  getting  tired  of  all  this  cross- 
examination,  dropped  into  a  chair.  Without  even 
glancing  in  the  direction  of  the  maid,  he  turned  to  the 
butler  and  said,  curtly: 

"Bring  the  cook  in  also." 

Mr.  Finley  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  an  amused 
expression  came  over  his  face.  It  was  really  funny 
to  see  these  detectives  thinking  they  could  order  a 
cook  around  as  if  she  were  any  ordinary  person. 
What  did  the  cook  care  for  detectives?  Tactfully 
he  said: 

"Ye'll  be  wastin'  yer  time  there,  sir.  Mrs.  Beau- 
regard,  the  cook,  is  the  only  intelligent  member  of 
the  household  that  sleeps  below- stairs,  an'  she's 
been  pestered  by  the  police  till  she's  got  a  bit  fussy." 

"Never  mind;  I'll  have  to  see  her,"  said  Kayton, 
determinedly. 

Mr.  Finley  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Very  well,  sir,  I'll  bring  her — I'll  bring  her,  only 
don't  blame  me  if  she's  a  bit  cantankerous." 

He  went  out,  closing  the  door  of  the  library  behind 
him.     Kayton  looked  at  the  maid,  who  smiled  bash- 
fully.    She  had  never  seen  a  detective  before,  and 
had  no  idea  they  were  so  good-looking.     Modulating . 
his  voice,  he  said,  kindly: 

"Come  here,  my  girl.     So  you're  Kitty,  are  you?" 

She  advanced  shyly  toward  him.  Timidly,  and 
with  a  slight  courtesy,  she  answered: 

80 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Did  you  hear  anything  the  night  of  the  murder?" 

There  was  a  moment's  hesitation  as  she  replied : 

"N-no,  sir." 

"Nothing  whatever?"  he  persisted. 

"The  rain—  "  she  stammered. 

"What  time  was  it?"  he  asked  abruptly. 

She  gave  him  a  furtive  look  as  if  wondering  how 
much  she  could  tell  with  safety. 

"A  quarter  past  one." 

"You  got  up  and  lit  the  gas  to  look  at  the  clock?" 

The  girl  stared  at  him  in  amazement,  frightened 
that  he  knew  so  much.  Quickly  she  answered: 

"No,  sir.  I  got  up  because  I'd — I'd  left  a  window 
open  down-stairs." 

"Did  you  go  down  to  close  it?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Did  you  pass  Miss  Masuret's  room?" 

Again  she  hesitated. 

"Yes." 

"Was  there  a  light  under  the  door?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  replied,  reluctantly,  and  avoiding 
the  detective's  steady  gaze. 

"Did  you  speak  to  Miss  Masuret?" 

"Yes,  sir.  Her  maid  had  gone  away  for  the  night, 
and  I  thought  perhaps  I  could  do  something  for  her." 

"Was  she  ill?" 

"She  had  a  headache." 

"She  said  so?" 

"Yes,  sir.  She  said  she  had  a  headache  and 
couldn't  sleep." 

"Did  you  do  anything  for  her?" 

The  girl  hesitated  a  moment  before  she  answered: 

81 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"No,  sir." 

"Didn't  you  go  into  her  room?" 

The  maid  shook  her  head. 

"No,  sir;  she  wouldn't  let  me." 

"Why  not?" 

"She  said  she'd  be  all  right." 

Kayton  looked  at  her  keenly.  All  this  was  dam- 
aging evidence  of  the  highest  importance.  Changing 
abruptly  the  line  of  questioning,  he  demanded  sud- 
denly: 

"Did  you  come  down  to  this  floor?" 

"No;  I  went  right  back  to  bed." 

Before  the  detective  could  ask  anything  further 
there  was  a  commotion  outside  the  library  door,  and 
a  shrill,  angry  voice  was  heard  exclaiming: 

"Gawd  sakes!  I'd  like  to  see  the  man,  detective 
or  no  detective,  as  thinks  he  can  boss  me!" 

The  next  moment  there  bounced  into  the  room  a 
burly  negress  of  the  typical  Southern-mammy  type. 
She  had  a  fat,  kindly  face,  and  her  woolly  hair  was 
partially  gray.  Uncorseted,  her  enormous  bust  stood 
forth  in  vast  folds  of  wabbly  fat,  and  her  fat,  per- 
spiring face  shone  like  a  freshly  polished  stove. 
Evidently  just  from  the  kitchen,  she  was  neverthe- 
less neatly  dressed  in  blue  calico,  with  a  large  check- 
ered apron  and  a  white  handkerchief  tied  round  her 
head.  She  appeared  to  be  laboring  under  great 
mental  excitement,  for  directly  she  caught  sight  of 
Joe  she  turned  to  Mr.  Finley,  who  had  followed  in  a 
vain  attempt  to  quiet  her,  and  demanded: 

"Is  dis  de  man?" 

The  butler  shook  his  head  and  pointed  to  the  chief. 

"No;  this  is  Mr.  Kayton." 

82 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

Not  in  the  least  awed,  the  negress  advanced  ag- 
gressively toward  the  detective. 

"Ah,  you  ah  de  gen'l'man  as  wants  to  see  me?" 

Kayton,  an  amused  expression  on  his  face,  looked 
the  new-comer  over  for  a  moment  and  then  turned 
to  Kitty. 

"That's  all.     You  can  go." 

Overjoyed  to  get  away,  the  maid  beat  a  hasty 
retreat,  and  the  detective  turned  to  the  negress: 

"Ah!  You  are  Mrs.  Beauregard.  Yes;  I  want 
to  see  you." 

She  did  not  wait  to  hear  what  he  had  to  see  her 
about,  but  at  once  burst  forth  explosively: 

"Yes,  I  am,  suh;  an'  I's  heah  to  say  I  don*  wan* 
to  see  you!  I's  seen  'nuff  o'  you  detectionaries,  and 
I  obshave  ebry — ebry  time  anything  bad  occuhs  in 
dis  yere  wohld,  yo'  allus  try  to  put  it  on  to  us  colored 
folks." 

He  allowed  her  free  rein,  amused  at  her  angry 
gestures.  When  finally  she  stopped  for  want  of 
breath  he  asked,  quietly: 

"  How  long  have  you  lived  here,  Mrs.  Beauregard  ?" 

"How  long  has  I  libed  heah?  Lawd  o'  love,  I 
allus  libed  heah.  I  libed  heah  since  Miss  Mary  was 
a  HT  child.  Why  man,  I  libed  heah  mos'  a  hunded 
yeahs."  Indignantly  she  added:  "What  business  's 
it  on  yohs  how  long  I  libed  heah  ? " 

He  laughed  good-humoredly. 

"Well,  if  you've  lived  here  as  long  as  that  you 
must  have  been  deeply  attached  to  Mr.  Argyle." 

She  stared  at  her  interrogator  for  a  moment,  as  if 
not  quite  understanding  the  drift  of  the  question. 
Then,  as  if  suspecting  a  trap,  she  burst  out: 

83 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

"Don*  yo'  put  no  scandal  on  me!  I  wa'n'  no  moh 
'tached  to  Mr.  Argyle  dan  Mr.  Argyle  war  'tached  to 
me.  Dere  wa'n't  nobody  else  in  dis  yeah  town  could 
cook  fob  him!'* 

Kay  ton  merely  smiled  as  he  went  on,  calmly: 

"And  I  suppose  you  were  just  as  attached  to  Miss 
Masuret?" 

Again  flaring  up,  she  exclaimed,  angrily: 

"Don'  yo'  figgah  you  kin  make  me  say  nuffin' 
'gainst  Miss  Mary.  Come  'round  yeah  tryin'  to 
wohk  up  mo'  lies  against  dat  chil'  fo'  de  newspapehs. 
Yo — yo — don't  get  no  help  from  me!" 

Kayton  laughed  as  he  said,  mockingly: 

"I  don't  suppose  you  would  know  anything  about 
anything,  anyway." 

Incensed  that  he  should  take  her  for  an  ignoramus, 
she  fell  easily  into  the  trap.  Wrathfully  she  replied : 

"I — I — I  don'  know  nuffin',  eh?  I  don'  know 
nuffin',  eh  ?  I — I  know  'nuff  to  know  she  didn't  done 
nuffin'!" 

The  detective  quickly  altered  his  tactics.  There 
had  been  enough  fooling.  It  was  time  to  attend  to 
business.  Going  closer  to  the  negress  and  looking 
her  straight  in  the  face,  he  said,  sternly: 

"Young  Mr.  Argyle  has  engaged  me  to  find  out 
the  truth.  If  you  know  anything  that  will  help  to 
clear  Miss  Masuret,  you  had  better  tell  it." 

Somewhat  intimidated  by  his  commanding  tone, 
the  negress  looked  helplessly  at  the  butler. 

"Is  dis  yeah  man  lyin'  to  me?"  she  faltered. 

Mr.  Finley  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  he  replied, 
blandly: 

"There's  tricks  in  all  trades^  Mrs.  Beauregard,  but 

84 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

I'm  thinkin'  the  truth  can't  hurt  Miss  Mary — so 
whativver  ye  know  ye'd  best  tell  to  him." 

"Come,  come!"  repeated  Kay  ton.  "What  do  you 
know?" 

The  negress  shifted  uneasily  about  on  her  enor- 
mous flat  feet  and  rolled  up  the  whites  of  her  eyes  as 
she  replied: 

"I  know  Miss  Mary  hadn'  nuffin'  to  do  wit'  that 
yeah  'sassination,  'cause  she  was  on  d'  uppeh  flo'  all 
de  time." 

"How  do  you  know  that?"  demanded  the  detective, 
quickly. 

'"Cause  I  done  see  her  dere." 

"Where  were  you?" 

"I  was  crawlin*  up  dem  kitchen  staihs,  an'  dehe 
was  a  light  up  dehe,  an'  I  look  up  an'  I  see  her." 

"What  brought  you  up-stairs?" 

"Well,  suh,  I  was  wakened  up  by  a  pow'ful  row 
in  de  middle  o'  dat  yeah  night.  'Peahed  like  some- 
body must  'ave  fell  down  dem  yeah  staihs.  I  was 
scahed  corpse-cold,  an'  I  wait  dehe,  an'  listen  an' 
listen — an'  I  don'  heah  nuffin'  mo'.  Den  I  reckon 
I  bettah  'vestigate  dat  commotion.  An'  I  done 
did  it." 

"Did  you  speak  to  Miss  Masuret?" 

"No,  suh;  I  wasn't  speakin';  I  was  jes'  lookin'. 
'Peahs  like  I  couldn't  get  mah  breaf  in  time  to  speak 
'fore  Miss  Mary  went  back  inteh  her  room  an'  shut 
de  do'.  Den  I  calc'late  I  mus  've  dreamed  some  o' 
dat  yehe  noise,  so  I  goes  back  to  bed,  an'  didn't  heah 
nuffin'  mo'  till  mohnin'.  An'  if  you'll  excuse  me, 
Mistah  Policeman,  I'd  like  to  go  back  to  my  bakin'. 
Yo'  all  'peahs  to  fohget  dat  folks  has  got  to  eat," 

85 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

Kayton  laughed  and  turned  on  his  heel. 

"All  right,  general;  go  back  to  your  commissariat." 

The  woman  stared  at  him  in  blank  amazement. 

"What's  dat — what's  dat  you  call  me?" 

"All  right,  Mrs.  Beauregard.  If  I  want  you  again 
I'll  send  for  you.'* 

She  shook  her  head  defiantly. 

"Yo'  don'  see  no  moh  o'  dis  yeah  colored  lady. 
Come  roun'  heah  askin'  me  all  dese  fool  questions 
I  get  so — so  mingled  I  don'  know  what  I  is.  I  hopes 
to  de  Lawd  yo'  all  clear  out  o'  dis  yeah  house,  an' 
leave  dis  yeah  fambly  in  peace." 

At  the  door  she  turned  round  as  if  about  to  deliver 
another  broadside,  but  the  butler  gave  her  a  push, 
and  she  disappeared.  After  she  had  gone  Kayton 
hastily  scribbled  a  few  notes  in  his  memorandum- 
book  and  then  turned  to  the  butler.  Quietly  he  said : 

"Finley,  I  want  to  see  Miss  Masuret." 

The  old  servant  started,  and  a  look  of  genuine 
distress  came  over  his  face. 

"Miss  Mary,  sir?  Is  it  really  necessary.  .  .  . 
Couldn't  ye  leave  her  alone,  sir?" 

Kayton  stamped  the  floor  impatiently.  Per- 
emptorily he  said: 

"No;  go  at  once  and  tell  her  that  I  want  to  see 
her." 

"Very  well,  sir,"  replied  the  man,  resignedly.  "I 
will  call  Miss  Masuret." 

Without  another  word  the  butler  left  the  room, 
closing  the  door  carefully  behind  him. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

WHEN  the  door  had  closed  on  the  butler  Kay- 
ton  turned  to  his  assistant  with  a  grim  smile 
on  his  otherwise  impassive  face. 

"Nothing  so  far,  Joe." 

"No,  sir.     I  guess  it's  going  to  be  no  cinch." 

Kayton  did  not  answer,  but,  dropping  into  a  chair 
near  the  fireplace,  sat  staring  silently  at  the  blazing 
logs  on  the  hearth  as  if  trying  to  read  in  the  glowing 
embers  the  solution  of  the  Argyle  mystery.  So  far 
so  good,  but  all  he  had  learned  amounted  to  practi- 
cally nothing.  He  was  really  no  further  advanced 
than  when  he  began  this  wearisome  cross-examining 
of  dull-witted  menials.  Evidently,  none  of  the 
servants  were  implicated.  Each  had  told  a  straight- 
forward story,  and  there  was  no  good  reason  for 
doubting  any  one's  word.  It  was  tiring,  nerve-rack- 
ing work  having  to  pump  answers  out  of  the  fools, 
yet  it  must  be  done.  Experience  had  taught  him 
that  no  witness  is  too  humble  or  unimportant  not  to 
be  of  some  value.  While  innocent  themselves,  they 
often  unconsciously  furnished  a  clue  when  trying  to 
shield  the  real  culprits. 

For  example,  the  statements  made  by  the  footman, 
the  maid,  and  the  cook  were  all  highly  damaging  to 
Miss  Masuret.  There  seemed  to  be  no  question  that 
she  was  up  and  dressed  in  the  middle  of  the  night 

8? 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

about  the  time  when  the  crime  was  committed;  and 
in  the  morning,  when  informed  of  the  tragedy,  her 
manner  was  nervous  and  agitated.  In  her  case,  too, 
there  was  a  strong  motive.  She  was  chief  beneficiary 
under  a  will  which  had  just  been  executed.  It  was 
to  her  interest  to  get  the  old  man  out  of  the  way 
before  he  had  a  chance  to  regret  his  action  and 
remake  his  will.  But  was  it  credible  that  a  young 
woman  delicately  nurtured,  charming  and  amiable 
as  every  one  declared  her  to  be,  would  attempt  such 
a  deed  ?  Was  she  present  in  the  room  while  another, 
an  accomplice,  did  the  old  man  to  death?  Were 
those  finger-prints  on  the  polished  surface  of  the 
table  her  finger-prints  ?  All  this  must  be  cleared  up. 
Then  there  was  the  son.  There  was  also  a  motive 
in  his  case.  He  knew  of  the  new  will  disinheriting 
him.  He  knew  exactly  when  it  was  to  be  executed. 
Had  he  come  to  the  house  with  the  idea  of  killing 
his  father  before  he  could  sign  it?  The  butler  said 
he  saw  the  youth  go  away,  and  long  after  his  departure 
the  old  man  was  alive;  but  were  they  sure  that  Bruce 
did  not  return  at  a  late  hour  and  get  into  the  house 
unobserved?  He  had  a  latch-key.  Nothing  would 
have  been  easier.  Then  there  was  Mr.  Hurley,  the 
family  lawyer.  He  was  one  of  the  last  to  see  the 
banker  alive.  What  had  passed  between  him  and  his 
aged  client?  All  these  threads  must  be  closely  fol- 
lowed up.  But  he  must  go  slowly.  There  was 
nothing  to  be  gained  in  acting  hastily.  He  would 
not  even  attempt  to  put  direct  questions  to  either 
Miss  Masuret  or  Bruce.  A  better  plan  was  to  let 
them  think  he  did  not  even  suspect  them  and  to 
watch  them  closely.  Meantime,  he  would  get  hold 

88 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

of  Hurley  and  learn  from  him  just  what  the  relations 
between  the  murdered  man  and  his  son  and  adopted 
daughter  were.  It  might  also  be  a  good  idea  to  go 
through  the  old  man's  bureau  drawers.  Possibly 
they  might  contain  some  clue. 

Jumping  up,  he  went  over  to  the  big  desk  to 
examine  the  contents  of  the  pigeonholes,  while  Joe, 
on  the  other  side  of  the  room,  picked  up  the  debris 
scattered  all  over  the  floor  and  arranged  everything 
systematically  on  the  window-seat. 

Suddenly  Kay  ton  stooped  down  and  exclaimed: 

"Hello!  Here's  a  cigar-band!"  Examining  it 
closely,  he  added:  "I  wonder  what  brand  the  old  man 
smoked." 

Joe  pointed  to  the  cigar-boxes  on  the  desk. 

"I  guess  those  were  his." 

Quickly  Kayton  opened  one  of  the  boxes  and, 
taking  out  a  cigar,  compared  the  bands.  Shaking 
his  head,  he  said: 

"They're  not  alike.  It  may  have  been  an  old 
cigar  the  old  man  had  in  his  pocket.  It  may  also 
have  been  on  the  cigar  of  the  man  who  killed  him. 
In  any  case,  it's  worth  keeping." 

Slipping  it  into  his  waistcoat  pocket,  he  went  on 
with  the  work  of  ransacking  the  pigeonholes.  For 
a  few  minutes  nothing  was  said,  both  men  working 
hard,  when  all  at  once  Kayton  uttered  an  exclama- 
tion of  surprise.  He  had  been  examining  the  con- 
tents of  several  of  the  envelopes  he  found  in  one  of 
the  inner  drawers  of  the  desk  when  suddenly  he 
came  across  a  brand-new  hundred-dollar  bill." 

"Well,  that's  damned  funny!" 

"What?"  said  Joe,  looking  up. 

7  89 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"Here's  a  new  hundred-dollar  bill  in  an  envelope." 

"In  the  desk?" 

"Yes,  and  the  drawer  looks  as  if  it  had  been 
pretty  well  searched,  too." 

Joe  nodded. 

"Yes;  the  police  probably  went  through  them  all. 
Queer  about  the  bill.  The  old  man  must  have  in- 
tended mailing  it  to  somebody." 

Kay  ton  shook  his  head  as  if  puzzled. 

"That's  hardly  likely." 

"I  wonder  why  he  didn't." 

Kayton  laughed  outright.  Mockingly  he  ex- 
claimed : 

"If  you  knew  that,  and  had  your  supper,  you 
could  go  to  bed,  Joe." 

The  young  man  pointed  to  the  debris  he  had 
collected. 

"I've  got  all  this  stuff  laid  out,  governor." 

The  chief  nodded  approvingly. 

"Better  start  with  the  finger-prints  now,  Joe. 
Get  all  the  servants — both  hands." 

As  he  spoke  the  library  door  opened  and  the 
butler  appeared.  Kayton  hastily  put  the  one- 
hundred  -  dollar  banknote  in  an  envelope,  which 
he  thrust  in  his  pocket.  Looking  up,  he  asked, 
carelessly : 

"What  is  it,  Finley?" 

"Mr.  Hurley's  here,  sir." 

"Is  Miss  Masuret  coming?" 

"I've  not  had  time  to  see,  sir.  I'm  going  to  her 
now." 

Kayton  made  an  impatient  gesture.  Sharply  he 
said: 

90 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"Don't  delay  any  longer.  Meantime  ask  Mr. 
Hurley  to  come  in." 

The  butler  went  out,  and  directly  his  back  was 
turned  Kayton  hurried  over  to  where  his  assistant 
was  still  at  work. 

"Joe,  go  and  send  a  telegram  to  our  office  in  San 
Francisco.  Put  it  in  cipher.  Make  it  read  like 
this." 

The  assistant  produced  from  his  pocket  a  pencil 
and  pad  and  started  to  write  what  his  chief  dictated. 

"Look  up  Mrs.  James  Masuret — maiden  name 
Nellie  Marsh:  Got  that,  Joe?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"'Died  in  'Frisco."  Correcting  himself,  he  said: 
"You'd  better  make  that  San  Francisco,  Joe. 
They're  very  peevish  about  that  out  there.  'Died 
in  San  Francisco  about  twenty  years  ago.'  Get  that 
off  at  once,  Joe." 

As  he  spoke  he  extinguished  the  lamp  on  the 
table. 

"Is  she  the  girl's  mother?"  demanded  the  young 
man. 

"Yes.  I  want  to  know  all  I  can  about  that  scan- 
dal. I  believe  this  thing  happened  through  the  girl 
some  way  or  other." 

Before  Joe  could  question  any  further  the  door 
opened,  and  Mr.  Hurley  entered. 

The  lawyer  was  carefully  dressed  as  usual,  with  a 
flower  in  the  buttonhole  of  his  long  frock-coat,  an 
elaborate  tie  with  an  expensive  pin,  and  white 
gaiters.  No  one  could  mistake  his  profession.  He 
had  about  him  that  self-confident,  aggressive  manner 
usually  associated  with  attorneys.  He  did  not  wait 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

for  introductions,  but  advanced,  hand  outstretched, 
with  great  cordiality. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Kay  ton.  I'm  Mr.  Hurley, 
Mr.  Argyle's  lawyer.  I'm  awfully  glad  to  meet 
you — heard  a  lot-  about  you  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing.  I'm  mighty  glad  that  you've  come  in  on 
the  case.  That  police  bunch  are  awful  duffers.  I 
don't  doubt  you'll  clear  the  mystery  up  for  us." 

He  spoke  with  deliberation  and  affectation,  as  if 
always  endeavoring  to  impress  the  world  with  his 
importance.  His  voice  had  a  harsh,  unpleasant 
quality,  and  he  had  a  trick  of  interlarding  his  sen- 
tences with  a  forced,  nervous,  and  boisterous  laugh, 
not  unlike  the  neighing  of  a  horse. 

"Well,  I  hope  so,  Mr.  Hurley,"  replied  the  de- 
tective, dryly. 

The  lawyer  shook  his  head. 

"It  means  time  and  a  good  deal  of  work,  though. 
There  are  so  many  ways  the  thing  might  have  oc- 
curred." 

"As,  for  instance — pardon  me!" 

Joe,  his  work  finished,  had  started  to  leave  the 
room  quietly.  Kayton,  excusing  himself,  went 
quickly  forward  and  intercepted  his  assistant. 

"Joe,  telephone  to  the  office  that  I'll  not  be  there 
till  twelve-thirty." 

"Very  well,  gov'nor." 

The  assistant  went  out,  leaving  the  two  men  to- 
gether. Kayton  apologized  for  the  interruption. 

"You  were  saying,  Mr.  Hurley — " 

"I  was  saying  there  are  so  many  ways  the  thing 
might  have  possibly  occurred."  Drawing  a  cigar- 
case  from  his  pocket,  he  held  it  out,  "Smoke?" 

92 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"No,  thank  you." 

The  lawyer  turned  his  back  a  moment  to  get  a 
match  from  the  table,  and,  like  a  flash,  Kayton 
stooped  and  picked  up  the  cigar-band  which  Hurley 
had  thrown  from  his  own  cigar.  Then,  taking  from 
his  pocket  the  one  he  found  on  his  entrance,  he 
quickly  compared  the  two.  But  the  clue,  if  it  was 
one,  seemed  valueless.  There  was  not  the  slightest 
similarity.  Evidently,  the  murderer  did  not  smoke 
the  same  cigar  as  Mr.  Hurley. 

Languidly,  the  lawyer  dropped  into  an  arm-chair 
and,  leisurely  crossing  his  knees,  puffed  away  in  si- 
lence. He  appeared  quite  unconscious  of  his  sur- 
roundings, but  it  did  not  escape  Kayton's  notice 
that  each  time  he  unexpectedly  looked  up  the 
lawyer's  small,  ferrety  eyes  were  watching  him. 
His  elbow  resting  on  the  arm  of  the  chair,  and  a 
hand  supporting  his  bulging  brow,  the  attorney  pro- 
ceeded to  theorize  on  the  subject  of  the  murder. 

"For  instance,  let  us  suppose  that  the  murderer 
obtained  entry  by  the  connivance  of  one  of  the  ser- 
vants. Possibly  one  of  them  carelessly  lost  a  key, 
or  perhaps  he  gained  an  entrance  in  some  way  that 
the  investigation  hasn't  yet  disclosed.  The  in- 
truder is  discovered  by  Mr.  Argyle,  who  threatens 
him  with  a  revolver,  and  a  fatal  struggle  ensues." 

From  his  chair  facing  the  attorney  Kayton  lis- 
tened attentively.  When  his  vis  a  vis  stopped  speak- 
ing, he  asked,  quietly: 

"How  does  your  theory  account  for  the  fact  that 
throughout  this  struggle — a  struggle  in  which  several 
blows  were  struck,  judging  by  the  marks  on  the  face 
and  chest  of  the  dead  man — how  does  your  theory 

93 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

account  for  the  fact  that  Mr.  Argyle  made  no  out- 
cry?" 

"His  cries  may  not  have  been  heard?" 

"Very  true." 

"Of  course,  the  strong  argument  against  the  bur- 
glar theory  is  that  nothing  was  stolen,  although,  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  that  is  a  poor  argument.  The 
burglar  might  have  been  frightened  away." 

"You're  convinced,  then,  that  it  was  a  burglar,  and 
not  some  intimate  who  killed  him?"  said  Kay  ton, 
quickly. 

For  a  moment  the  lawyer  seemed  nonplussed. 
He  hesitated  in  an  embarrassed  kind  of  way,  but 
laughed  it  off  boisterously  as  he  replied : 

"Well — er — er — no,  I  was  simply  airing  that  idea. 
As  to  the  suggestion  that  it  might  have  been  some 
one  of  his  household,  some  member  of  his  family, 
that  is,  of  course,  absurd.  There  is  an  entire  lack 
of  motive,  or,  rather,  a  large  discrepancy  between 
the  nature  of  the  crime  and  the  character  of  the 
only  person  who  might  have  a  motive." 

The  detective  rose  and  paced  the  floor. 

"Miss  Masuret,  for  instance?"  he  said,  quietly. 

"Oh,  it  couldn't  be  Miss  Masuret!"  replied  the 
lawyer,  also  rising.  "It's  quite  preposterous  to 
imagine  for  a  moment  that  a  girl  like  Miss  Masuret 
could  be  involved  in  such  an  affair.  Besides,  how 
was  she  to  know  that  if  he  died  at  that  particular 
moment  she  would  be  sole  heir  under  the  will?" 

"Was  the  fact  that  he  was  about  to  make  a  new 
will  secret?" 

The  lawyer  did  not  answer  for  a  moment,  but 
looked  closely  at  the  detective's  face,  trying  to  pene- 

94 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

crate  his  inscrutable  mask.     Dropping  again  into  a 
seat,  he  said,  in  his  exasperating,  self-important  way : 

"Well,  now,  Mr.  Kay  ton,  I'll  tell  you  about  that. 
My  client  had  an  idea  that  is  not  uncommon  among 
millionaires.  He  had  an  almost  morbid  apprehen- 
sion of  having  his  heirs  waiting  to  inherit  his  estate. 
In  the  last  few  days  of  his  life,  when  he  contem- 
plated reinstating  his  son  in  his  favor,  he  was  par- 
ticularly insistent  on  secrecy." 

"  Did  the  son  know  that  he  had  been  disinherited  ?" 

"I  doubt  it.  When  I  mentioned  to  a  reporter 
yesterday  that  Mr.  Argyle  had  made  a  new  will  at 
the  time  of  his  death  it  never  for  a  moment  occurred 
to  me  that  it  might  harm  Miss  Masuret.  But  when 
newspapers  come  to  construe  motives — 

Kay  ton  interrupted  him.     Abruptly  he  asked: 

"You  drew  up  the  new  will?" 

"Well,  now,  Mr.  Kay  ton,  I'll  tell  you  about  that. 
The  old  man  was  greatly  incensed  against  his  son 
because  of  the  latter's  marriage,  and  he  sent  for  me 
to  draw  a  new  will." 

"Did  you  draw  up  the  old  one?" 

"No,  that  was  before  my  time.  That  was  drawn 
up  by  Mead  &  Tolworthy." 

Before  the  questioning  could  go  any  further,  the 
library  door  opened,  and  Bruce  entered  quickly,  a 
newspaper  in  his  hand.  His  face  was  flushed  with 
anger  and  his  manner  greatly  excited.  Nodding  to 
the  detective,  he  said: 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Kayton." 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Argyle." 

"I'm  awfully  sorry  I'm  late." 

Kayton  smiled  amicably. 

95 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"Oh,  that's  all  right." 

Not  stopping  to  say  more,  the  young  man  went 
straight  up  to  his  father's  lawyer.  Wrathfully  he 
burst  out: 

"Look  here,  Hurley!  Why  did  you  go  and  give 
out  that  stuff  to  the  newspapers,  about  father's 
changing  his  will,  and  starting  them  up  with  all  this 
rot  about  Mary  ?  Why,  the  papers  this  morning  are 
full  of  the  damnedest  libels.  Look  at  this:  ' Argyle 
Murder  Motive.  Report  that  the  Dead  Millionaire 
Had  Changed  His  Will.  If  He  Had  Lived,  Miss 
Masuret  Would  Not  Have  Been  Sole  Heir.'  That's 
unspeakable!  If  Mary  sees  it — ' 

The  attorney  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Loftily 
he  replied: 

"Why  pay  any  attention  to  that  sort  of  thing? 
You  ought  to  be  used  to  the  methods  of  sensational 
journalism  by  this  time." 

"That's  nothing  to  do  with  it.  The  information 
came  from  you,  and  a  lawyer  should  keep  such 
things  from  scandal-mongers,  not  furnish  them  with 
ammunition.  It  was  bad  enough  when  they  in- 
sinuated that  some  of  father's  stock-market  victims 
came  and  killed  him,  or  maybe  some  fellow  wanted  to 
marry  Mary  for  her  money  and  had  to  get  him  out 
of  the  way;  but,  Hurley,  you've  given  them  just 
what  they  wanted  to  build  on!" 

The  lawyer  bit  his  lip. 

"I'm  very  sorry,  but  I  didn't  think  we  had  any- 
thing to  conceal.  You  can't  hide  much  from  the 
newspapers.  If  we  are  going  to  get  at  the  truth  of 
this  matter  we  need  to  be  open  and  honest.  Isn't 
that  so,  Mr.  Kay  ton?" 

96 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

Kayton  bowed  politely. 

"Why,  of  course,  Mr.  Hurley." 

The  lawyer  resumed  his  seat  and  went  on  with  his 
cigar  while  the  detective  turned  to  the  dead  man's 
son. 

"You  understand,  Mr.  Argyle,  that  you  are  now 
the  head  of  the  family,  and  the  responsibility  for 
the  success  or  failure  of  this  investigation  will  rest 
largely  with  you.  I'll  have  to  ask  for  your  co- 
operation in  everything,  and  I'll  expect  that  you'll 
consult  with  me  before  you  make  any  move  or  ex- 
press any  opinion  or  do  anything  that  has  a  bearing 
on  this  case." 

Bruce  nodded. 

"Certainly;  I  understand  that,  Mr.  Kayton." 

"Mr.  Argyle,  you  were  the  last  person  known  to 
be  with  your  father  the  night  of  the  murder." 

"Yes,  that's  true — I  was.  I  had  dinner  here 
with  Mary  and  him." 

"Was  that  unusual?" 

"Well,  you  know,  I  suppose,  that  father  and  I 
didn't  get  along  any  too  well  together.  I  broke 
away  about  a  year  ago  when  he  objected  to  my 
marrying.  My  foster-sister,  Miss  Masuret,  has 
been  trying  ever  since  to  bring  us  together.  That 
night  my  father  was  more  amiable,  and  we  three  had 
a  splendid  time.  She  was  as  happy  as  could  be 
about  it — -because  father  and  I  were  on  good  terms 
again.  She  went  to  her  room  early  and  left  us  here 
to  have  a  talk." 

"Did  your  father  seem  worried  about  anything?" 

"He  had  a  telephone  call  that  disturbed  him  a 
good  deal  while  I  was  here." 

97 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"What  time  was  that?" 

"Why,  about  nine  o'clock." 

"Did  he  receive  it  himself?** 

"Yes;  he  was  called  on  his  private  wire — right 
there.'* 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"I  don't  remember,  except  that  he  kept  saying 
'No*  very  emphatically.  I  concluded  that  it  was 
something  connected  with  his  business  affairs.  After- 
ward he  seemed  preoccupied  and  worried.  I  thought 
he  wanted  to  be  alone  so  he  could  think  it  over,  so 
I  left  soon  after." 

Changing  abruptly  the  line  of  questions,  the  de- 
tective asked: 

"Where  did  you  sleep  that  night?" 

"In  my  studio,  where  I  live.** 

"How  did  you  get  there?  a  taxi?" 

"No;  I  walked.'* 

"Walked,  eh?     Were  you  caught  in  the  rain?'* 

"I  didn't  know  it  rained.'* 

"Did  any  one  see  you  go  into  your  studio?'* 

"Not  that  I  know  of.** 

"Any  one  drop  in  on  you  after  you  got  home?" 

"No.** 

"Is  there  any  one  in  any  of  the  surrounding  apart- 
ments that  could  have  seen  you  or  your  light?" 

"Well,  you  know  I  just  have  the  rear  of  a  top  floor 
in  an  old  Twenty-third  Street  house  with  a  skylight." 

Again  the  detective  asked,  sharply: 

"Didn't  you  hear  the  rain  on  your  skylight?" 

"I  tell  you  I  didn't  know  it  rained.  I  go  to  bed 
early  and  get  up  as  soon  as  there's  light  enough  to 
work.'* 

98 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

The  detective  was  about  to  ask  another  question 
when  suddenly  Mr.  Hurley,  who  had  been  an  eager 
listener,  broke  in: 

"  Do  you  see  anything  significant  in  that  telephone 
message?" 

Kayton  paid  no  attention  to  the  interruption,  but 
went  on: 

"Then  you  don't  know  of  any  way  in  which  we 
can  corroborate  your  statement  that  you  left  here 
about  ten  o'clock  and  spent  the  rest  of  the  night  in 
your  studio?" 

The  young  man  shook  his  head. 

"No— no,  I  don't." 

"Nobody  saw  you,  you  think — nobody  saw  you 
leave  here?" 

For  a  moment  the  youth  hesitated.  Kayton 
noticed  it,  and  quickly  repeated  the  question,  this 
time  more  authoritatively. 

"Nobody  saw  you  leave  here?" 

"No— no— " 

"You  didn't  see  Finley?" 

"No,"  he  replied,  quickly,  "I  didn't  see  Finley 
at  all." 

Kayton  smiled  encouragingly.  More  amiably  he 
said: 

"Mr.  Argyle,  I'm  sorry  it's  necessary  to  question 
you  so  closely,  but  if  you're  not  going  to  give  me  your 
confidence  it  would  be  better  for  me  to  drop  the  case 
right  here." 

"Well— I—" 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,  who  was  it  that  you  thought 
you  saw?" 

"Well,  I  don't  want  to  say  that  I  saw  any  one." 

99 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"You  understand  that  it  might  be  very  important 
that  some  one  should  have  seen  you — the  last  person 
known  to  have  been  with  your  father  the  night  of  the 
murder — leave  this  house?" 

The  young  man  looked  harassed.  It  was  evident 
that  this  line  of  questioning  was  worrying  him. 
Wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  forehead  and 
clearing  his  throat,  he  stammered,  huskily: 

"Well,  I  saw—" 

"What  did  you  see?" 

"I  thought  as  I  was  going  out  that  I  saw  somebody 
looking  over  the  bannister-rail." 

"What  made  you  look  up  at  the  bannister- 
rail?" 

"I  suppose  I  must  have  heard  something." 

Quick  as  a  flash,  the  detective  demanded: 

"Was  it  Miss  Masuret?" 

Eagerly,  he  scrutinized  the  young  man's  face  as  he 
replied: 

"It  might  have  been  one  of  the  maids." 

"Why  didn't  you  speak  to  her?" 

"I  wasn't  sure,  and  she  drew  back."  Turning  to 
the  lawyer,  he  exclaimed,  anxiously:  "Look  here, 
Hurley!  Don't  for  God's  sake  give  this  to  the  papers. 
Goodness  knows  what  they'd  make  of  it!  They'd 
have  Mary  up  there,  just  waiting  to — 

Going  to  the  mantelpiece,  Bruce  stood  for  a 
moment  glaring  at  the  scandalous  sheet  which,  in 
its  frantic  efforts  to  secure  circulation  at  any  cost, 
did  not  hesitate  to  try  and  fasten  on  an  innocent 
girl  the  crime  of  parricide.  Crushing  the  paper  up 
in  his  hands,  he  threw  it  on  the  floor  and  stood 
with  his  head  resting  despondently  on  the  mantel. 

100 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

Kayton,  who  had  watched  him  in  silence,  now  ap- 
proached him.     Soothingly  he  said: 

"That's  nothing,  my  dear  fellow;  don't  mind  what 
they  say.  The  truth  will  come  out  sure  as  the  sun 
will  rise  to-morrow.  The  thing  that  strikes  me 
as  most  significant  in  all  this  is  the  telephone 
message." 

Mr.  Hurley  looked  up  quickly. 

"What  do  you  see  significant  in  that?"  he  de- 
manded. 

"It  is  very  simple,"  said  the  detective.  "The 
person  who  called  him  up  must  have  known  his 
private  telephone  number.  That  would  indicate 
some  one  who  was  familiar  with  the  house.  And  the 
fact  that  he  was  disturbed  by  the  message  but  said 
nothing  of  it  might  argue  that  it  was  some  one 
known  to  him  who  was  in  a  position  to  annoy  him — 
possibly  some  old  servant  with  whom  he  had  confi- 
dential relations."  Turning  to  the  lawyer,  he  asked: 
"Had  he  any  business  enemies  that  you  know  of, 
Mr.  Hurley?" 

The  lawyer  shifted  uneasily  about  in  his  chair. 
Puffing  at  his  cigar  furiously,  he  said: 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you  about  that — you  understand,  of 
course,  that  I've  only  recently  been  associated  with 
Mr.  Argyle,  and  he  didn't  consult  me  about  every- 
thing, but  naturally  a  man  of  his  many  interests 
must  have  enemies." 

Bruce  turned  to  Kayton  and  held  out  his  hand. 
Cordially  he  said: 

"I  leave  everything  to  you.  You  may  not  be  able 
to  find  out  who  did  this.  We'll  be  satisfied  if  you 
only  prove  that  Mary  did  not." 

101 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

Kayton  smiled,  and  there  was  a  kindly  expression 
about  his  mouth  as  he  replied: 

"The  best  way  to  prove  who  didn't  kill  your  father 
is  to  prove  who  did  kill  him." 

As  he  spoke  the  library  door  opened,  and  Mary 
appeared  in  obedience  to  the  detective's  summons. 


CHAPTER  IX 

MARY  MASURET  had  no  serious  claim  to  classic 
beauty,  but  this  morning  in  her  simple,  white 
negligee  she  looked  extremely  girlish  and  attractive. 
She  was  deathly  white,  and,  judging  by  the  dark  cir- 
cles under  her  eyes  and  look  of  distress  on  her  face, 
she  was  under  the  strain  of  great  mental  anxiety. 

"Miss  Masuret,  I  presume,"  said  Kayton,  his  eyes 
resting  with  considerable  interest  on  this  young  girl 
whose  name  had  been  so  prominent  in  the  case. 

Certainly  she  did  not  look  very  dangerous.  He 
thought  he  had  seldom  seen  a  more  wholesome  or 
more  sympathetic  face.  It  was  impossible  that  such 
a  sweet  girl  as  that  should  have  committed  or  con- 
nived at  murder.  With  a  courteous  bow  he  added: 

"I  shall  try  not  to  inconvenience  you  more  than 
is  absolutely  necessary." 

She  bowed  without  looking  up  or  taking  the  trouble 
to  see  what  kind  of  person  this  detective  might  be. 
She  did  not  care  who  he  was.  The  terrible  events  of 
the  last  few  days  had  dulled  her  sensibilities,  left  her 
as  if  dazed.  All  she  knew  was  that  she  must  undergo 
another  painful  ordeal  of  futile  questioning.  Unable 
to  find  the  slayer  of  her  benefactor,  the  police  had 
retaliated  by  putting  her  under  all  sorts  of  humili- 
ating examinations,  and  had  not  stopped  even  at 
hinting  at  dreadful  suggestions  that  perhaps  it  was 

103 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

Bruce  or  even  herself  who  had  killed  the  aged 
millionaire.  Not  that  she  feared  these  veiled  accusa- 
tions. Her  own  conscience  was  serene.  And  as  to 
Bruce,  it  was  unthinkable  that  he  could  have  done 
such  a  thing.  She  hoped  this  new  police  officer  or 
detective,  or  whatever  he  might  be,  would  have  some 
compassion  and  not  inflict  on  her  more  torture  than 
was  absolutely  necessary. 

"I  am  Mr.  Kay  ton,"  explained  the  detective. 
"I'm  here  to  try  to  clear  up  the  murder." 

Again  the  young  girl  bowed  without  looking  up. 
In  a  low  tone  she  murmured: 

"Yes— I  know." 

Bruce,  who  had  noticed  her  deathly  pallor,  came 
quickly  forward.  Anxiously  he  exclaimed: 

"Mary,  you  oughtn't  to  be  down  here.  You  look 
awfully  ill.  It's  too  much  for  you.  Please  go  up- 
stairs again." 

Kayton  put  out  an  authoritative  hand.  In  a  tone 
that  did  not  admit  of  argument,  he  said: 

"I  sent  for  Miss  Masuret." 

The  young  man  bridled  up.  Who  was  this  de- 
tective that  he  should  dare  dictate  to  him  in  his  own 
house?  Curtly  he  said: 

"You  don't  understand,  Mr.  Kayton.  It's  too 
much  to  ask  Miss  Masuret  to  come  down  here.  It's 
too  harrowing.  It's  the  first  time  the  room  has  been 
opened  since — " 

Mary  shook  her  head. 

"No,  no,  Bruce,"  she  interrupted.  "I  don't  mind. 
It's  all  right  now — please." 

Turning  calmly  to  the  young  man,  Kayton  said 
quickly: 

104 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"I  wish  to  speak  with  Miss  Masuret  alone,  if  you 
don't  mind." 

Bruce  shook  his  head  vigorously.  Emphatically, 
he  exclaimed: 

"I'm  not  going  to  have  her  put  through  any  third 
degree!" 

Kay  ton  stepped  forward.     Firmly  he  said: 

"Just  a  moment,  Mr.  Argyle.  Before  we  go  any 
further  with  this  investigation  I  want  you  to  under- 
stand I  am  in  charge  of  it." 

The  youth  was  still  unconvinced  and  inclined  to 
argue  further,  when  Mr.  Hurley  came  up  and 
whispered: 

"This  is  nonsense,  Bruce.  Mr.  Kay  ton  has  got  to 
question  Miss  Masuret  if  he's  going  to  be  of  any 
help  to  her  or  to  us.  Come  alone  with  me." 

The  young  man  turned  on  his  heel.  Shrugging 
his  shoulders,  he  said: 

"I  suppose  it's  necessary,  but  I  hate  to  have  her 
go  through  all  this.  Make  it  as  short  as  you  can." 

With  a  smile  at  his  foster-sister,  he  took  his  hat 
and,  accompanied  by  the  lawyer,  left  the  room. 

When  they  were  alone  Kayton  pointed  to  a  chair. 
Politely  he  said: 

"Please  be  seated,  Miss  Masuret." 

She  sat  down,  and  the  detective  went  to  the  door 
to  see  that  it  was  properly  closed,  so  that  they  could 
not  be  interrupted,  and  then  came  and  took  a  seat 
near  her.  After  a  pause,  during  which  she  sat 
trembling  for  him  to  begin,  he  said: 

"Miss  Masuret,  I  can  understand  that  this  affair 
has  been  a  great  shock  to  you.  You  feel  the  loss 
of  Mr.  Argyle  probably  more  than  anybody.  I 

8  105 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

needn't  tell  you  that  I  sympathize  with  you  thor- 
oughly, and  I  don't  want  to  do  or  ask  anything 
that  will  distress  you.  But  a  murder  has  been  com- 
mitted, and  if  I'm  going  to  clear  up  everything  and 
remove  the  suspicions  that  have  been  aroused  I 
must  have  the  co-operation  of  everybody  in  the 
house — and  especially  you." 

The  young  girl  nodded. 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  faltered;  "I  want  to  do  anything 
I  can." 

"Thank  you.    Where  were  you  born?" 

"In  San  Francisco." 

"Do  you  remember  your  mother?" 

"No.  I  don't  remember  either  my  father  or  my 
mother  very  well.  I  was  too  young  when  they 
died." 

"You  have  no  relatives?" 

"None  that  I  ever  heard  of." 

"There  is  no  one  who  would  inherit  this  money 
from  you,  or  have  any  other  reason  for  wishing  you 
to  get  it?" 

"Oh— no— " 

"Did  Mr.  Argyle  ever  object  to  your  intimacy 
with  any  friends?" 

"Why,  our  life  was  so  retired — I  met  hardly  any 
one." 

"No  man  who  wished  to  marry  you?" 

"Oh  no.  Mr.  Argyle  wanted  Bruce  to  marry 
me;  but  we  couldn't  —  that  was  impossible  —  we 
were  like  brother  and  sister." 

"Then  you  have  no  reasons  for  suspecting  any 
one?" 

"Oh  no— no!" 

106 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

Trembling  violently,  she  suddenly  broke  into  a 
fit  of  hysterical  sobbing,  and  in  an  effort  to  overcome 
it,  she  rose  hastily  to  her  feet.  Kayton  rose  simul- 
taneously and  confronted  her.  Looking  at  her  fixedly 
he  demanded: 

"What  is  it — what  is  the  matter?" 

She  shuddered. 

"I  don't  know — I  don't  seem  to  be  able  to  control 
myself  any  longer." 

"Wait — wait  a  moment,"  he  said,  kindly. 

"It's  horrible,"  she  sobbed;  "it's  all  so  horrible! 
It's  worse  down  here.  I  can't  help  thinking  of  him 
— on  the  floor — there — " 

"Won't  you  try  to  put  it  out  of  your  mind?  I 
want  to  help  you." 

She  struggled  to  control  her  emotion,  but  the 
effort  was  beyond  her  power.  Tearfully  she  said: 

"Yes,  I  know  that.  I  haven't  been  like  this  be- 
fore. I  haven't  talked  about  it  to  any  one — I 
couldn't.  I've  tried  to  keep  from  reading  the  pa- 
pers— but  I  had  to.  I  read  them  all,  and  they've 
been  getting  worse  about  me  every  day,  until  it 
seemed  as  if  the  whole  city —  How  is  it  possible 
that  they  can  say  such  horrible  things?"  Looking 
up  at  him  fearfully,  she  asked:  "Shall  I  have  to  go 
through  a  trial?" 

He  smiled  reassuringly. 

"Not  if  we  can  prevent  it." 

She  smiled  gratefully,  and  from  that  moment  it 
seemed  to  her  that  a  bond  of  sympathy  and  friend- 
ship had  been  established  between  them.  This  man, 
this  stranger,  spoke  kindly  and  promised  to  protect 
her.  Her  fear  of  her  interrogator  had  to  some  ex- 

107 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

tent  disappeared.  She  did  not  mind  him  nearly 
so  much  as  she  feared.  His  face  was  kind,  his  man- 
ner courteous  and  considerate.  In  fact,  she  rather 
admired  this  handsome  detective,  about  whom  she 
already  knew  so  well  by  reputation.  She  wondered 
vaguely  if  all  detectives  were  so  good-looking  and 
had  such  an  amiable  smile. 

"Tell  me,"  he  went  on,  "you  went  to  your  room 
rather  early  that  night — about  nine-thirty?" 

"Yes." 

"Leaving  Mr.  Argyle  and  his  son  alone  here?" 

"Yes." 

"You  heard  the  son  go?" 

"Yes." 

"You  saw  him  go?" 

She  hesitated,  and  he  repeated: 

"You  saw  him  go?" 

"Yes." 

"You  were  looking  down  from  the  upper  hall?" 

She  started  violently  and  looked  at  him  in  blank 
astonishment.  How  could  he  know  that? 

"Yes,"  she  stammered. 

"Why  didn't  you  speak  to  him?"  he  demanded. 

"I  didn't  want  him  to  see  me." 

"Why  not?" 

"I  don't  know.  It  was  just — instinctive.  I 
thought  afterward  that  I  should  have  spoken  to 
him." 

"What  did  you  do  after  he  had  gone?" 

"I  went  back  to  my  room  and  to  bed." 

"Went  right  to  sleep?" 

"Well— after  a  while—" 

"And  heard  nothing  more?" 

1 08 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"No." 

The  detective  was  silent  for  a  few  moments.  Then, 
suddenly,  he  demanded: 

"Why  couldn't  Bruce  have  stayed  here  that  night 
instead  of  going  away  in  a  storm  like  that?" 

Not  realizing  the  importance  of  her  answer,  she 
replied,  involuntarily: 

"Why,  it  didn't  begin  to  rain  until  long  after 
midnight." 

"Then  you  heard  it  rain?"  he  asked,  quickly. 

"Oh — yes — yes,"  she  stammered,  with  some  con- 
fusion. 

Taking  quick  mental  note  of  her  embarrassment, 
he  stood  looking  at  her  in  silence.  All  at  once  she 
turned,  and  her  eyes  encountered  his  steady  gaze. 
Rising  from  his  seat,  the  detective  approached  her. 
Kindly  he  said: 

"Miss  Masuret,  I  can't  help  you  unless  you  trust 
me.  What  woke  you  up  ?" 

She  did  not  answer  for  a  moment.  Finally,  with 
reluctance,  she  faltered: 

"I  heard  a  door  close." 

"Yes?" 

"It  seemed  later  than  it  really  was,  and  I  was  a 
little  alarmed.  I  got  up  and  opened  my  door." 

"You  heard  voices?" 

"Yes." 

"Mr.'Argyle's?" 

"Yes." 

"  Did  you  know  who  was  with  him  ?  .  .  .  Answer 
me."  Again  she  was  silent.  Then,  as  he  repeated 
the  question,  she  replied,  hysterically: 

"No— no— I  don't  know!" 

109 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

Rising  quickly,  she  went  over  to  the  window  and 
stood  gazing  into  the  street,  her  face  averted.  He 
followed  her. 

"Did  you  hear  anything  that  sounded  like  a 
struggle?"  he  went  on. 

"No — they  had  closed  the  door." 

"But  you  did  hear  angry  voices,  didn't  you?"  he 
persisted,  when  she  did  not  answer. 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  reluctantly. 

He  looked  steadily  at  her,  trying  to  read  in  her 
face  what  was  passing  in  her  mind. 

"And  you  thought  that  Bruce  and  his  father 
were  quarreling?" 

She  turned  round  and  held  out  her  hand  appeal- 
ingly.  Hastily  she  exclaimed: 

"No — no — not  that!  Afterward,  when  I  saw 
what  had  happened,  I  knew  it  couldn't  have  been 
Bruce.  You  won't  attach  any  importance  to  it, 
will  you?  I  had  no  real  reason  for  thinking  it  was 
he." 

He  nodded. 

"And  you  concealed  this  because  you  were  afraid 
that  it  was  Bruce?" 

"I  was  afraid  that  some  one  might  think  it  was 
he." 

"  Did  you  hear  any  one  go  away  ?" 

"I  heard  the  door  bang.  But  I  didn't  go  down — 
I  was  so  unhappy — 

"You  heard  nothing  more?  So  you  went  to 
sleep?" 

She  shook  her  head  as  she  answered  sadly: 

"The  rain  kept  me  awake  for  a  long  time." 

Kayton  was  about  to  put  another  question  when 

no 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

suddenly  Joe  entered  the  room  with  several  inky 
papers  in  his  hands.  Closing  the  door  carefully 
behind  him,  he  advanced  toward  his  employer. 

"Gov'nor!" 

The  detective  turned  to  the  young  girl.  Apolo- 
getically, he  said: 

"One  moment,  Miss  Masuret."  As  she  rose  with 
a  sigh  of  relief  and  walked  over  to  the  fireplace  he 
whispered  quickly  to  his  assistant:  "Did  you  get 
them  all,  Joe?" 

Handing  over  the  prints,  the  youth  answered: 

"Yes,  sir,  all  but —  Breaking  off  abruptly,  he 
looked  significantly  at  Mary. 

Kayton  took  the  impressions  and  glanced  over 
them.  Then,  looking  up  suddenly,  he  turned  to  the 
young  girl. 

"Miss  Masuret,  did  you  know  that  you  were  to 
be  Mr.  Argyle's  sole  heir  under  the  will?" 

She  was  still  at  the  fireplace,  standing  with  one 
hand  resting  on  the  mantel,  lost  in  thought,  and 
apparently  forgetful  that  any  one  else  was  in  the 
room.  She  started  as  she  heard  the  question,  and  a 
faint  flush  spread  over  her  face.  But  she  turned 
and  faced  her  interrogator  boldly  as  she  replied: 

"Yes." 

"Did  you  speak  of  it  to  any  one?" 

"Mr.  Argyle  asked  me  not  to." 

"Did  you  know  that  Mr.  Argyle  contemplated 
rechanging  his  will  a  few  hours  before  his  death?" 

Again  she  met  his  steady  gaze  as  she  replied, 
firmly : 

"Yes — I  had  been  urging  him  to  do  it." 

Kayton  bowed. 

in 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"That's  all,"  he  smiled.  Then,  as  if  changing 
the  subject,  he  took  up  the  finger-print  impressions 
and  added,  carelessly:  "We  have  here  the  finger- 
prints of  all  the  women  of  the  family  who  were  in  the 
house  that  night  except  yours,  and  we'd  like  yours." 

"Mine?"  she  exclaimed,  opening  wide  her  eyes  in 
surprise. 

"Yes.  They  are  needed  for  identification  pur- 
poses. There  are  no  two  alike  in  the  world,"  he 
answered,  quickly. 

"What  do  I  do?"  she  asked,  with  a  timid  smile. 

Taking  one  of  the  pieces  of  prepared  paper,  the 
detective  placed  it  on  the  desk.  Amiably  he  said: 

"Just  lay  your  fingers  flatly  on  this  blank  piece 
of  paper  and  press  on  it." 

She  laughed  nervously. 

"I  can't  hold  my  hands  steady." 

"That  doesn't  matter." 

She  made  the  print  with  the  flat  of  her  hand  as 
directed;  and,  this  done,  he  slipped  before  her  an- 
other piece  of  the  paper. 

"Now  your  thumbs,  please." 

When  she  had  made  an  impression  to  his  satis- 
faction, he  passed  the  papers  to  his  assistant. 

"See  if  you  can  bring  these  out,  Joe." 

Quickly  the  young  man  brushed  the  impressions 
with  lampblack,  bringing  out  the  finger  and  hand 
prints  with  startling  clearness.  Mary,  greatly  in- 
terested, watched  him  curiously.  When  she  saw  her 
hand  reproduced  so  accurately  in  black,  she  started. 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed,  apprehensively. 

"What  is  it?"  demanded  Kayton,  looking  at  her 
with  a  smile, 

112 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"It's  so  gruesome!     Can  I  go?" 

"Yes.     That's  all  for  the  present,  thank  you." 

He  bowed  politely  as  she  left  the  room.  Directly 
the  door  was  closed  behind  her  he  ran  over  to  the 
table. 

"Quick,  Joe!"  he  exclaimed. 

The  assistant  watched  the  door  while  Kayton 
quickly  compared  with  the  magnifying-glass  the 
table  finger-prints  with  the  impressions  made  of 
the  young  girl's  hands.  His  assistant  waited  breath- 
lessly for  the  result. 

"Is  it  the  girl?"  he  gasped. 

"No!"  exclaimed  Kayton,  jubilantly. 

Joe  stared.  Had  the  chief  suddenly  taken  leave 
of  his  senses  ?  Here  they  were  breaking  their  heads 
trying  to  fit  people's  hands  to  the  table  impression, 
and  Kayton  actually  seemed  pleased  when  they 
didn't  fit.  Shaking  his  head,  he  held  out  another 
of  the  prints  he  had  taken,  saying,  laconically: 

"Mrs.  Wyatt?" 

Kayton  examined  it  closely. 

"No,"  he  answered,  less  joyfully. 

"The  cook,"  said  Joe,  handing  out  another. 

"No." 

"Kitty?" 

"No." 

"Miss  Thornton?" 

Kayton  shook  his  head.  None  of  the  women  they 
had  in  view  had  made  the  finger  -  impressions. 
Positively  he  said: 

"No.  The  woman  who  was  in  the  room  that 
night  came  from  the  outside.  We've  got  to  find  her, 
Joe,  wherever  she  is." 

"3 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

The  assistant  threw  up  his  hands  in  despair. 

"Gee!    That's  a  big  order!" 

Outside  was  heard  the  sound  of  voices.  Foot- 
steps were  approaching.  Kayton  went  quickly  to 
the  door.  As  he  passed  his  assistant  he  whispered: 

"When  I  leave  the  room,  come  with  me.  I  want 
to  get  Hurley  out  of  the  way." 

Opening  the  door  and  thrusting  his  head  into  the 
hall,  he  called  out: 

"You  may  come  in  now." 


CHAPTER  X 

BRUCE  entered,  followed  by  Miss  Masuret  and 
Mr.  Hurley.  The  young  man  gave  the  detec- 
tive a  quick,  keen  look,  and  from  him  his  glance 
went  to  Mary,  as  if  trying  to  tell  from  the  expression 
of  their  faces  what  had  taken  place  between  them. 
But  before  he  could  ask  any  questions  Kayton  turned 
to  the  lawyer.  With  apparent  cordiality  he  said: 

"Mr.  Hurley,  I'd  like  to  have  a  little  chat  with 
you  if  you  don't  object.  Do  you  mind  going  up  to 
the  billiard-room?  I'll  join  you  there  immediately." 

The  lawyer  bowed  and  went  toward  the  door. 

"By  all  means,  Mr.  Kayton.     I'll  go  right  up." 

"Yes — go  up.     I'm  coming." 

The  lawyer  went  out,  and  Kayton,  making  a  move- 
ment as  if  he  intended  following  him,  partially 
closed  the  door  behind  him.  But,  unseen  either 
by  Bruce  or  Mary,  he  suddenly  retraced  his  steps 
and,  concealing  himself  behind  a  screen,  stood  lis- 
tening. 

Utterly  unconscious  of  the  fact  that  they  were 
overheard,  Mary  went  quickly  to  the  young  man. 
Her  arms  outstretched,  she  cried  in  distress: 

"Oh,  Bruce,  I've  so  much  wanted  to  speak  to  you 
ever  since — " 

The  young  man  looked  at  her  in  surprise. 

"Why,  what  is  it,  Mary?" 

"5 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

Her  bosom  heaving,  almost  breathless  from  fear 
and  anxiety,  the  young  girl  faltered : 

"The  detective  made  me  tell — " 

Bruce  stared  at  her  in  amazement. 

"Made  you  tell — made  you  tell  what?" 

For  a  moment  she  said  nothing,  but  looked  at 
him  in  silence,  hardly  daring  to  give  expression  to 
the  dreadful  thoughts  that  were  on  her  mind.  Sud- 
denly she  burst  out: 

"Oh,  Bruce!  Can't  you  prove  that  you  didn't 
come  back  here  that  night!  Can't  you  establish  an 
alibi?" 

He  still  stared  at  her,  not  understanding. 

"Mary,  I  don't  know  what  you  mean." 

Almost  hysterical,  she  went  on: 

"  I  was  awake — I  heard  your  father  go  to  the  door. 
Oh!  I  meant  never  to  tell  any  one;  but  he  made 
me — I  don't  know  how!  Can't  you  prove  that  it 
wasn't  you?" 

The  blood  rushed  to  the  young  man's  face,  then 
receded,  leaving  him  deathly  pale.  Ah!  Now  he 
understood.  Mary,  too,  believed  him  guilty  of 
this  horrible  crime.  Seizing  hold  of  her  arm  al- 
most roughly,  his  voice  tense  and  broken,  he  ex- 
claimed : 

"Mary,  what  are  you  saying?  That  you  heard 
father  let  me  in?" 

"Oh,  Bruce,  I  thought  I  heard  your  voice — I 
thought  I  heard  you  quarreling." 

He  looked  at  her  in  silence  for  a  few  moments. 
His  lips  worked  spasmodically,  as  if  he  were  trying 
to  control  himself,  before  speaking.  Finally  he  said, 
bitterly : 

116 


THE   ARGYLE   CASE 

"What  have  you  been  thinking?  That  I  came 
back  here  and  quarreled  with  my  father  and — and — 
How  could  you  think  such  a  thing?" 

She  extended  her  arms  appealingly. 

"Oh,  I  didn't  think  it  was  on  purpose,  Bruce! 
Indeed  I  didn't!" 

"What  did  you  think?"  he  demanded. 

"He  was  always  so — so  violent  when  he  got 
angry  at  you — I  thought  he  did  something — made 
an  attack  on  you,  and  you  had  to  defend  yourself. 
Of  course,  I  knew  it  was  an  accident,  Bruce — 
Don't  look  like  that,  Bruce!" 

His  face  grew  whiter,  his  mouth  quivered  with  the 
emotion  he  could  not  control.  The  sense  of  wrong 
done  him  was  overwhelming,  and  aroused  within 
him  such  intensity  of  indignation  that  he  could  not 
trust  himself  to  speak.  At  last,  with  an  effort,  he 
demanded,  hoarsely: 

"Have  you  believed  all  this  time  that  I  killed  my 
father?" 

"I  tell  you,  Bruce,  I  thought  it  was  an  accident. 
I  didn't  blame  you." 

"An  accident!  Why,  if  such  a  thing  had  hap- 
pened, wouldn't  I  have  called  you — roused  the  house 
— got  help?  How  could  you  think  such  a  thing? 
Mary,  do  you  think  so  now?" 

She  held  out  her  arms  to  him.  Thank  God,  he 
was  innocent!  Her  face,  radiant  now  that  all 
doubts  were  removed,  her  voice  trembling  with 
emotion,  she  exclaimed: 

"No — no — not  you,  Bruce!  You  couldn't  have 
done  that!" 

The  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling  was  almost  too 

117 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

much  for  her.  She  stumbled  and  collapsed  on  a 
chair. 

But  the  young  man,  now  thoroughly  aroused, 
bitterly  indignant  at  the  injustice  of  these  suspicions, 
was  not  so  easily  pacified.  Heedless  of  her  distress, 
he  exclaimed,  sarcastically: 

"You  do— you  do,  eh?" 

Kayton  had  heard  enough.  Emerging  from  be- 
hind the  screen  and  slamming  the  door  as  if  he  had 
re-entered  the  room,  he  came  toward  them.  Bruce 
motioned  to  him  to  approach.  Bitterly  he  said: 

"Just  in  time,  Mr.  Kayton!  At  last  we've  got 
hold  of  something  worth  while  giving  to  the  papers. 
Miss  Masuret  heard  me  come  back.  .  .  .  That  ought 
to  satisfy  the  yellow  press.  That  ought  to  clear  her! 
I  did  not  come  back,  but  give  it  out  just  the  same — 
I  can  stand  it!  Give  it  out!" 

He  snatched  up  his  hat  and  cane  and  made  for  the 
door.  Mary  tried  to  stop  him,  but  before  she  could 
reach  him,  he  rushed  out  of  the  room. 

"Bruce!  Bruce!"  she  cried  after  him,  in  great 
distress. 

She  staggered  toward  Kayton. 

"Help  us,  do  help  us!"  she  cried,  imploringly. 
"Don't  say  he  came  back  here!  I  was  wrong — I'm 
sure  I  was.  He  says  he  didn't  come — please  don't 
tell  any  one!  What  have  I  done?  Oh,  what  have 
I  done?" 

The  detective  placed  his  hands  firmly  on  the  young 
girl's  shoulders.  Quietly  but  kindly  he  said: 

"You've  done  just  the  right  thing.  All  will  be 
well.  I  begin  to  see  daylight.  I  want  you  to  pull 
yourself  together.  I'm  going  to  need  you.  I'm 

118 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

counting  on  you.    We  need  you.    Will  you  help 
me?" 

"Oh— I  can't— I  can't—" 

"Yes,  you  can;  you're  just  the  right  sort  of  a  girl. 
You  want  to  clear  him,  don't  you?  As  much  as  he 
wants  to  clear  you  ? " 

"Yes^oh  yes— I—" 

He  patted  her  on  the  back  reassuringly. 

"Well,  then,  it's  all  right.  You  go  to  your  room 
and  pull  yourself  together,  and  I'll  let  you  know 
when  I  need  you." 

He  turned  from  her  as  if  the  matter  were  closed. 
She  drew  a  half-sobbing  breath,  looked  at  him  from 
under  her  drooping,  swollen  eyelids,  then  turned  and 
went  slowly  in  the  direction  of  the  door.  He  looked 
after  her  curiously  for  a  moment,  then  he  called 
after  her: 

"Miss  Masuret!" 

She  stopped  and  slowly  turned  round.  He  ap- 
proached her,  and  for  a  few  moments  they  looked  into 
each  other's  eyes  in  silence.  Finally,  he  broke  the 
spell.  Kindly,  he  said: 

"Just  a  moment.  I  want  you  to  promise  me  that 
you  won't  worry  any  more.  I  can't  say  yet  who's 
responsible  for  all  this,  but  I  do  know  that  neither 
you  nor  Bruce  had  anything  to  do  with  it." 

Her  face  flushed  with  pleasure.  Quickly  she 
exclaimed : 

"You  do!    Oh— thank  you,  Mr.  Kay  ton!" 

"Yes,  I  am  convinced  of  it,  and  if  I  never  do 
anything  else  as  long  as  I  live,  I'm  going  to  clear  this 
mystery  up  for  your  sake.  I  want  you  to  believe 
that.  Do  you  think  you  can  trust  me?" 

119 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

She  looked  at  him  earnestly.  Frankness  and  sin- 
cerity were  reflected  in  every  line  of  her  pale,  earnest- 
looking  face.  The  detective,  watching  her  in  silence, 
thought  he  had  seldom  seen  a  more  attractive-looking 
girl.  Fervently  she  exclaimed : 

"Yes — oh  yes — I'm  so  thankful  to  you.  .  .  ." 

She  tried  to  say  more,  but,  overcome  with  emotion, 
hurriedly  left  the  room. 

Kayton  made  no  further  attempt  to  stop  her. 
After  her  departure  he  stood  still,  lost  in  thought. 

Everything  was  clear  as  daylight  now.  Both 
Bruce  and  Mary  were  innocent.  No  inmate  of  the 
house  had  committed  the  murder.  The  midnight 
assassin  was  not  a  burglar  or  any  ordinary  criminal. 
It  was  some  one  with  whom  Mr.  Argyle  was  well 
acquainted,  some  one  he  knew  well  enough  to  invite 
to  his  house  at  such  a  late  hour  as  one  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  It  might  be  some  one  with  whom  he  had 
business  dealings  and  who  considered  himself  wronged. 
The  person  had  come  to  the  house  to  demand  an 
explanation  or  redress,  and  a  heated  argument  had 
followed.  Miss  Masuret  was  sure  she  heard  voices 
raised  in  angry  dispute.  No  doubt  they  quarreled, 
and  the  stranger,  losing  self-control,  killed  his  host. 
Certainly  it  was  as  plausible  a  theory  as  any  other. 
Who  was  the  stranger?  That  was  the  next  thing  to 
find  out.  The  strong  presumption  was  that  it  was 
the  same  person  whose  telephone  message  earlier 
in  the  evening  had  so  perturbed  the  banker.  The 
first  step  was  to  consult  the  telephone  records  and 
find  out  who  called  the  Argyle  residence  about  that 
time.  Then,  all  at  once,  another  idea  flashed  across 
the  detective's  active  brain.  Was  the  brand  new 

1 20 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

one-hundred-dollar  bill  a  clue?  Could  there  be  any 
connection  between  that  banknote  and  the  murder? 
Was  the  note  genuine?  If  it  was  a  counterfeit,  a 
great  deal  might  be  at  once  explained.  If  the  old 
man,  for  some  inexplicable  reason,  had  had  any 
dealings  with  counterfeiters,  dangerous  and  des- 
perate men  who  would  stop  at  nothing,  the  solution 
of  the  mystery  would  be  at  hand.  The  first  step 
was  to  get  Washington  on  the  wire  and  tell  them 
to  rush  a  Secret  Service  agent  to  New  York. 

The  detective  was  still  buried  in  deep  thought 
when  Joe  entered  for  instructions. 

"Have  you  got  anything  yet,  gov'nor,  that  I  can 
work  on  ? " 

Aroused  from  his  reverie,  Kayton's  manner  under- 
went an  abrupt  change.  Turning  quickly  to  his 
assistant,  he  said: 

"Yes— call  up  Chief  Flynn!" 

The  young  man  stared  in  astonishment. 

"Washington!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  Washington,"  retorted  the  chief,  sharply. 
"Did  you  think  the  Secret  Service  has  moved? 
6400  Main." 

Trained  to  obey  without  question,  the  young  man 
without  further  comment  went  to  the  telephone  and 
unhooked  the  receiver.  As  he  did  so,  Kayton  held 
out  his  hand. 

"Give  me  that  magnifying-glass,  Joe." 

Drawing  the  glass  from  his  pocket,  and  handing 
it  to  his  employer,  the  young  man  turned  to  the 
telephone. 

"Hello,  Central.     Give  me  long  distance." 

As  he  waited  for  the  connection,  he  wondered 
9  121 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

what  was  in  the  wind.  What  could  Washington  have 
to  do  with  this  case?  Finally  his  curiosity  got  the 
better  of  him. 

"What's  up,  gov'nor?"  he  asked. 

Kayton  took  from  his  pocket  the  banknote  he  had 
found  in  the  desk  and  studied  it  carefully  through 
the  glass.  Slowly  he  replied: 

"I've  got  a  hunch  there's  something  queer  about 
this  bill." 

The  telephone  rang.  Joe  spoke  quickly  into  the 
transmitter: 

"Hello,  long  distance!  I  want  Washington,  640x3 
Main."  Turning  to  his  chief,  he  said,  "You  know  it's 
funny  to  me  one  of  those  cops  didn't  pinch  that 
hundred-dollar  bill?" 

Kayton  chuckled  as  he  replied,  grimly: 

"Joe,  a  man's  mouth  is  responsible  for  a  good  deal 
of  damage  if  he  doesn't  use  his  brain.  You've  got 
that  New  York  habit  of  knocking  the  police  force." 

Embarrassed  at  the  rebuke,  the  young  man  ex- 
claimed, in  some  confusion: 

"What's  that,  gov'nor?" 

"Suppose  there  are  a  few  grafters  among  our  ten 
thousand  policemen — whose  fault  is  it?  Yours  and 
mine,  Joe,  for  putting  the  political  grafters  over 
them;  and  I'll  tell  you  something  else,  Joe,  while 
we're  on  this  subject:  there  are  a  lot  of  tough  guys 
here  in  New  York,  but  there  are-  damned  few  who 
want  to  start  anything  single-handed  with  a  New 
York  cop,  and  don't  you  forget  it." 

Joe  grinned. 

"  I  guess  you're  right.  I  never  looked  at  it  in  that 
light." 

122 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"No,  and  a  lot  of  other  people  never  looked  at  it 
like  that,  but  it  goes  just  the  same." 

Still  seated  at  the  telephone,  Joe  began  speaking 
to  Washington: 

"Hello!  Is  the  chief  in?  Mr.  Kayton  wants  to 
speak  to  him."  Turning  to  his  employer,  he  said, 
hastily:  "Here  he  is,  gov'nor." 

Kayton  hurried  over  and  took  his  place  at  the 
transmitter.  Before  speaking  he  turned  to  his 
assistant: 

"Quick,  Joe,  cover  the  doors!" 

The  young  man  at  once  locked  the  door  leading 
to  the  hall  and  hurried  out  the  other  way.  Kayton 
began  talking  into  the  telephone. 

"Is  this  Mr.  Flynn?  Hello,  Chief.  ...  Oh,  hard  at 
work."  Lowering  his  voice,  he  went  on:  "Have  you 
had  any  report  of  a  counterfeit  hundred-dollar  gold 
certificate — £-9737?  E — a,  b,  c,  d,  e, — 973 — don't 
you  get  it  ?  Well,  I  can't  speak  any  louder  .  .  .  you 
understand.  That's  it.  Series  of  1907 — yes.  You 
haven't?  Well,  I  have  one  here  that  I  thought 
might  be  bad.  No;  but  it  looks  a  little  light.  If 
it's  counterfeit,  it's  the  best  one  I've  ever  seen. 
No;  they  must  have  bleached  to  get  the  paper.  The 
head's  a  corker.  .  .  .  Very  well,  I'll  turn  it  over  to 
the  New  York  office.-  No.  It's  a  murder  case.  Well 
—thank  you  very  much.  Good-by,  Mr.  Flynn." 

Hanging  up  the  receiver,  he  rose  from  the  desk  and 
called  out: 

"Come  in,  Joe!" 

The  assistant  reappeared  on  the  threshold.  As  he 
entered  he  turned  and  spoke  to  some  one  in  the 
outside  hall : 

123 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"You  can  come  in  now,  Mr.  Hurley." 

Kayton,  meantime,  quickly  slipped  the  hundred- 
dollar  bill  back  into  the  envelope,  which  he  put  in  his 
pocket.  The  next  instant  Mr.  Hurley  came  in,  fol- 
lowed by  Joe. 

Aggressive  and  with  his  usual  self-important  air, 
the  lawyer  entered  jauntily,  swinging  his  cane  and 
glancing  keenly  from  one  to  the  other.  Watching 
the  detective's  face  closely,  he  asked: 

"Well,  how  are  we  getting  along  with  the  mystery, 
Mr.  Kayton?" 

The  detective  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"My  dear  Mr.  Hurley,  there's  no  such  thing  as  a 
mystery,  if  you  use  a  little  common  sense.  You  know 
in  a  case  of  this  sort  you're  confronted  by  a  long  line 
of  facts,  and  you  hammer  away  till  you  break  through 
somewhere.  By  the  by,  Mr.  Hurley,  when  you  first 
met  Mr.  Argyle —  How  did  you  meet  him  ? " 

The  lawyer  smiled  broadly. 

"Well,  now,  Mr.  Kayton,  I'll  tell  you  about  that. 
I  had  a  Western  proposition  in  which  I  wanted  to 
interest  him,  and  I  went  to  his  office,  and  he  proved 
to  be  a  very  approachable  man.  I  laid  the  matter 
before  him  in  the  usual  way.  He  took  it  up,  investi- 
gated it,  found  it  was  what  I  said  it  was,  and  we  got 
together  on  it.  I  suppose  that  gave  him  confidence 
in  me.  Anything  else  I  can  do?" 

"No,  thank  you,"  said  Kayton,  dryly. 

The  lawyer  turned  to  go.     Carelessly  he  said: 

"Well,  call  me  up  in  the  morning,  if  I  can  be  of 
any  help." 

"I  won't  be  here  to-morrow,"  replied  the  detective, 
dryly.  "I'll  be  in  Pittsburgh 

124 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

The  lawyer  opened  his  eyes.  With  mock  sympa- 
thy he  asked: 

"Have  you  got  to  go  to  Pittsburg?" 

The  detective  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Do  you  think  I'd  go  if  I  didn't  have  to?  Some 
of  my  operatives  have  just  rounded  up  a  case  there, 
and  I've  got  to  see  the  man  and  pull  him  across. 
I  expect  to  take  the  night  train  back,  however." 

The  lawyer  proceeded  to  the  door.  When  he 
reached  it  he  halted  and  stood  for  a  moment  in  the 
doorway,  looking  back.  With  a  chuckle,  he  said : 

"I'll  see  you  the  day  after  to-morrow,  then." 

Kayton  smiled  grimly. 

"Yes — yes — do.     Good  morning." 

The  visitor  disappeared,  and  Kayton  began  putting 
on  his  coat.  Turning  to  his  assistant,  he  pointed 
significantly  in  the  direction  the  attorney  had  taken. 

"Trail  him,  Joe!"  he  said,  in  a  whisper. 

"What?"  exclaimed  the  young  man,  staring  at  his 
chief  in  astonishment.  Kayton  did  not  stop  to  ex- 
plain. He  merely  repeated,  laconically: 

"Follow  Hurley!" 

"Hurley!"  gasped  the  assistant. 

The  detective  nodded.     Shrewdly  he  said: 

"When  a  man  says,  '  Well,  now,  I'll  tell  you  about 
that,'  it's  one  safe  bet  he's  lying.  Trail  him!" 

Joe  made  a  wild  dash  for  the  door,  but,  catching  in 
his  chief's  eyes  an  expression  of  disapproval,  sud- 
denly checked  himself  and  went  out  quietly. 

Kayton  waited  for  a  few  moments  after  his  subordi- 
nate's departure,  then  carelessly  picked  up  his  hat 
and  gloves  and  followed  him  out. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  announcement  that  America's  famous  detec- 
tive had  been  retained  to  probe  the  Argyle  mur- 
der caused  public  interest  in  this  cause  celebre  to  run 
higher  than  ever.  The  latest  developments  were 
followed  with  breathless  attention,  the  newspapers 
devoted  columns  to  the  affair,  featuring  sensational 
details,  publishing  pictures  more  or  less  accurate  of 
the  Argyle  house  and  room  where  the  body  was 
discovered,  giving  portraits  of  Mary  Masuret  and 
Bruce  Argyle,  printing  interviews  with  friends,  ser- 
vants, policemen,  detectives,  or  whoever  was  in  a 
position  to  throw  the  slightest  light  on  this  extra- 
ordinary case,  which,  owing  to  the  prominence  of  the 
victim,  made  it  one  of  the  most  sensational  murders 
in  the  dark  annals  of  local  crime. 

Public  opinion  by  this  time  had  completely  ex- 
onerated both  the  son  and  the  adopted  daughter 
from  being  in  any  way  involved  in  the  tragedy. 
Bruce's  straightforward,  manly  attitude,  his  genuine 
grief  over  his  father's  death,  and  consistent,  honor- 
able behavior  throughout  had  gained  him  the  respect 
of  all,  while  any  suspicion  which  the  libelous,  heart- 
less innuendos  of  scandalous  yellow  newspapers  had 
directed  toward  Miss  Masuret  had  been  completely 
dispelled  by  Kayton  himself,  who,  in  an  interview 
conspicuously  featured,  declared  most  positively  that 

126 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

he  was  personally  convinced  of  the  girl's  innocence 
and  that  all  such  gossip  and  rumors  were  cruel 
slander.  In  fact,  so  eloquent  a  champion  did  Kayton 
show  himself  that  his  office  associates,  who  had  al- 
ways regarded  him  as  a  cynical  old  bachelor,  dead 
to  all  sentiment,  looked  at  each  other  and  whistled 
significantly. 

Yet  some  one  had  killed  John  Argyle.  There  could 
be  no  question  about  that,  and  the  fact  that  robbery 
had  not  been  the  motive  only  made  the  mystery  the 
more  baffling.  There  were  many  who  owed  the  old 
millionaire  a  grudge  for  his  sharp  practice,  but  there 
is  a  wide  difference  between  disliking  a  man  and 
killing  him.  Yet  it  was  certain  that  the  unknown 
person  who  had  secretly  visited  him  late  on  the  night 
of  the  murder  might  have  some  strong  reason  for 
wishing  the  banker  out  of  the  way. 

Kayton,  whose  instinct  rarely  failed  him,  was  now 
more  than  ever  convinced  that  he  had  hit  a  trail  in 
the  new  one-hundred-dollar  banknote.  The  more 
he  examined  the  bill,  the  more  he  believed  it  to  be 
spurious.  When  the  Secret  Service  agent  arrived  he 
would  be  able  to  tell  in  a  moment.  If  the  bill  were 
false,  it  was  quite  within  the  possibilities  that  the 
dead  man  knew  it,  that  he  had  threatened  the 
counterfeiters,  and  the  latter,  in  fear  of  exposure, 
had  not  hesitated  to  kill  him.  It  was,  of  course, 
only  a  theory  at  best,  but  since  the  one-hundred- 
dollar  note  had  been  found  in  the  dead  man's  desk, 
it  was  worth  looking  into.  On  the  other  hand, 
what  possible  dealings  could  a  wealthy  man  like  John 
Argyle  have  with  a  band  of  crooks  ?  It  was  certainly 
most  puzzling. 

127 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

For  several  days  following  the  examination  of  the 
Argyle  servants  the  Kayton  offices  fairly  sizzled  with 
activity.  Detectives  came  and  went;  wires  and 
telephones  were  kept  hot  in  every  direction.  Every 
resource  at  the  command  of  the  most  efficient  de- 
tective bureau  on  earth  was  put  in  motion  to  appre- 
hend the  slayer  of  John  Argyle. 

Kayton  himself  remained  most  of  the  time  at  his 
desk  directing  the  campaign.  The  more  he  studied 
the  case,  the  more  convinced  did  he  become  that  at 
least  one  person  intimately  connected  with  the 
Argyle  household  would  bear  watching.  He  had  not 
liked  the  man's  manner  from  the  outset.  He  was 
tricky  and  catlike.  Certainly  Mr.  Hurley  would 
bear  watching. 

The  chief  never  reached  his  office  before  ten  o'clock, 
and  this  morning  he  was  later  than  usual.  It  caused 
no  comment  among  his  staff,  for  it  was  Kayton's 
custom  to  stop  off  at  places  on  the  way  down-town 
in  order  to  make  investigations  on  his  own  account. 
In  very  important  cases  he  never  relied  entirely  on 
others;  he  accepted  only  what  his  own  eyes  could  see. 
That  was  why  he  was  often  kept  out  himself. 

Detective  Nash  was  impatiently  awaiting  his 
arrival,  while  Manager  Leishman,  looking  more 
clerical  and  benevolent  than  ever,  kept  him  company. 
Nash,  for  want  of  something  better  to  do,  took  from 
a  cardboard  box  on  Kayton's  desk  a  new  pair  of 
handcuffs,  the  bright  steel  of  which  shone  like  pol- 
ished silver  in  the  morning  sunlight. 

"Where'd  we  get  these?"  he  growled. 

Leishman  smiled  grimly. 

"Oh,  that's  the  latest  thing  in  handcuffs  they've 

128 


THE   ARGYLE   CASE 

sent  us.  You  see — press  this  to  open  them.  Now 
brush  against  your  man.  Be  sure  you  strike  his 
wrist — and  they  snap  on  him  this  way.  You  see  it 
gives  three  sizes,  too.  If  that  were  a  woman,  it 
would  close  right  down  to  the  third  one.  And  this 
knuckle  in  the  middle — that's  so  they  can't  get  any 
leverage  on  it." 

Nash  chuckled. 

"Well,  that's  the  prettiest  thing  I've  seen  in  a  long 
time!  Gov'nor  get  in  yet?" 

Replacing  the  handcuffs  in  the  box,  the  manager 
answered: 

"Not  yet — we  expect  him  every  minute." 

Nash  lit  a  cigar.     Comically  he  said: 

"I'll  have  to  get  a  string  to  my  hat.  We'll  all  be 
living  in  a  high  wind  again  to-day."  Pointing  to  a 
voluminous  manuscript  lying  on  the  chief's  desk,  he 
asked:  "What's  all  that?" 

"Cortwright's  report  on  the  Argyle  case — on  the 
servants." 

"Do  you  expect  him  to  read  all  that?" 

"No;  he  won't  read  it,  but  he'll  know  what's 
in  it." 

Suddenly  the  telephone  -  bell  rang.  Leishman 
took  off  the  receiver,  while  Nash  sauntered  over  to 
the  window. 

"Hello.  Where  are  you  now?  Well!  Where's 
that?  What  have  you  done ?  Oh,  you  locked  them 
both  up.  I  didn't  think  they  had  a  jail  there. 
You'd  better  put  a  couple  of  men  to  see  they  don't 
rob  the  jailer.  Hurry  on  and  clean  it  up.  We've 
got  a  case  here  for  you — an  awful  foxy  fellow.  He 
tests  himself  every  time  he  takes  a  street-car.  So 

129 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

crooked  he  couldn't  lie  straight  in  bed,  and  he  looks 
under  it  before  he  gets  in.  No,  he's  an  old  bachelor." 

Leishman  hung  up  the  receiver  with  a  grin,  and 
as  he  did  so  the  office  door  swung  open  and  in  walked 
Kayton,  bag  in  hand. 

"Hello,  boys!" 

"Good  morning,  gov'nor!"  said  Nash,  cheerily. 

"Good  morning,  Chief,"  bowed  the  more  punctili- 
ous Mr.  Leishman. 

Nash  grinned  at  his  superior. 

"Well,  how's  Pittsburg,  gov'nor?" 

Kayton  quickly  put  his  finger  to  his  lips  in  warn- 
ing and  went  straight  to  his  desk.  Taking  a  re- 
volver from  his  pocket,  he  first  slipped  it  into  a 
drawer.  Then,  looking  up,  he  replied: 

"How's  Pittsburg?  'Ssh!  We  got  the  whole 
bunch.  One  weak-knee  came  through,  and  all  the 
rest  tumbled." 

"  Do  you  think  you'll  get  convictions  ?"  demanded 
Leishman. 

Kayton  laughed. 

"Convictions?  If  they  sat  on  their  own  juries 
they  couldn't  help  themselves  out  of  jail  now." 

"All  grafting,  gov'nor?"  asked  Nash. 

Dropping  into  his  seat,  the  chief  answered: 

"Yes,  and  what  makes  me  sore  is,  they  went 
around  four-flushing  about  how  they  were  going  to 
shoot  me,  and  the  newspaper-boys  played  it  up  till 
those  damned  insurance  companies  canceled  every 
accident  policy  I  had." 

Nash  chuckled. 

"Couldn't  you  sue  them  on  that?" 

"Sue  who?"  demanded  Kayton,  affecting  surprise^ 

130 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

"The  newspapers." 

Kayton  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"Sue  a  newspaper!     Wake  up!" 

Hanging  his  employer's  coat  on  a  hook,  Nash  left 
the  office,  while  Kayton  turned  to  Leishman  and 
pointed  to  the  pile  of  papers  on  his  desk. 

"Is  there  anything  here  I  ought  to  see?" 

The  manager  shook  his  head. 

"No,  I've  attended  to  them."  Pointing  to  a  pile 
of  letters  and  telegrams  on  the  desk,  he  added: 
"There's  your  other  mail." 

Seated  at  his  desk,  Kayton  started  to  look  over 
his  correspondence.  Picking  up  a  telegram,  he 
exclaimed : 

"If  this  fellow  doesn't  quit  sending  telegrams  he'll 
spoil  everything.  Wire  him  we'll  let  him  know 
when  we've  got  something  to  tell  him.  Sign  it 
David  Tuttle.  Is  Sam  out  there?" 

"Yes." 

"Send  him  in." 

Leishman  went  to  the  door  and  called  into  the 
outer  office. 

"Sam!" 

This  done,  the  manager  left  the  room.  Mean- 
time, Kayton  turned  to  the  report  and  glanced 
through  it  rapidly.  While  thus  engaged  a  man 
about  forty  years  of  age,  of  husky  build  and  fresh 
complexion,  entered  the  office.  Advancing  to  the 
desk,  he  said,  cordially: 

"Good  morning,  gov'nor." 

Kayton  nodded. 

"Good  morning,  Sam.  Tell  me  about  this  Ar- 
gyle  report." 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

"Well,  we've  run  out  all  the  inside  servants  and 
the  cook  and  the  chauffeur.  Nothing  wrong  there 
at  all.  We've  found  the  policeman  that  was  on 
the  beat.  He  has  nothing.  We  looked  up  some  of 
the  discharged  servants — a  coachman.  Nothing  in 
that." 

"Did  you  look  up  Mrs.  Wyatt?" 

"Yes,  sir.  Nothing  there — nothing  but  a  gabby 
old  woman." 

Kayton  chuckled.  Mimicking  the  housekeeper, 
he  laughed:  "Yes,  I  know  what  you  mean.  I  know 
what  you  mean."  Becoming  serious  again,  he  took 
up  a  telegram  and  said:  "I  see  you  couldn't  locate 
that  telephone  call?" 

"No,  sir." 

The  chief  made  a  gesture  of  dismissal. 

"All  right.     That's  all.     Send  Joe  in  here." 

The  man  went  out,  and  Kayton  turned  with  re- 
doubled vigor  to  the  accumulation  of  work  on  his 
desk.  There  were  letters  and  telegraphic  reports 
from  his  operatives  all  over  the  country,  telling  of 
clues  followed  up,  suspected  people  shadowed,  in- 
tricate, puzzling  details  of  a  dozen  different  cases 
that  would  be  absolutely  incomprehensible  to  any 
intelligence  not  specially  trained  for  such  work. 
To  a  man  of  Kayton's  mental  capacity  it  was  all 
the  merest  child's  play.  As  quick  as  he  scanned 
one  despatch  he  smashed  it  on  a  hook  and  picked 
up  another,  his  alert  brain  grasping  immediately 
the  relative  importance  of  each  message,  able  to 
seize  instantly  what  was  practical  and  of  immediate 
value  from  what  was  merely  theoretical.  Like  most 
successful  men,  Kayton  never  wasted  time;  he  was 

132 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

never  idle  for  a  moment.  Full  of  tremendous 
energy,  he  could  attend  to  a  dozen  matters  at  once, 
and  when  he  was  once  at  his  desk  things  fairly 
hummed.  He  was  still  busy  perusing  rapidly  one 
telegram  after  another  when  Joe  entered  in  obedi- 
ence to  the  summons.  The  young  man  looked  tired, 
and  had  a  bad  scratch  across  his  face  covered  with 
sticking-plaster.  His  employer  looked  at  him  in 
surprise. 

"Hello,  Joe!"  he  exclaimed,  cordially.  "Marked 
for  identification?" 

Advancing  to  the  desk,  the  assistant  put  his  hand 
to  his  cheek.  Ruefully  he  said: 

"Picked  that  up  trailing  Hurley.  A  wise  cop  got 
after  me,  and  I  fell  down  a  fire-escape." 

"How  about  Hurley?"  demanded  his  chief, 
eagerly. 

Joe  shook  his  head. 

"Nothing  doing.  Haven't  been  able  to  line  him 
up  with  anything.  We  take  him  out  in  the  morn- 
ing and  trail  him  around  all  day  from  one  office  to 
another.  He  don't  go  to  court.  Nothing  busy  in 
his  office  but  the  telephone.  We  take  him  home 
and  put  him  to  bed  at  night — do  everything  but 
hear  him  say  his  prayers." 

Kay  ton  laughed.     Good-humoredly  he  said: 

"Well,  don't  lose  him.  Did  you  attend  to  that 
fake  'Personal'  about  Nellie  Marsh — Miss  Masuret's 
mother — about  the  fake  legacy?" 

The  young  man  nodded. 

"It's  planted  in  this  morning's  Herald,  and  if 
Nellie  Marsh  sees  it  we'll  get  her." 

"Sure  you  got  it  right?"  asked  Kayton,  anxiously. 
J33 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

For  answer  the  assistant  picked  up  a  copy  of  the 
New  York  Herald  and  proceeded  to  look  for  the  ad- 
vertisement. Quickly  he  said: 

"I  think  so." 

"Read  it  to  me." 

At  last  the  young  man  found  what  he  was  looking 
for,  and,  coming  closer,  he  read  aloud: 

"Information  wanted  regarding  'N.  M.,'  benefi- 
ciary,  Argyle  estate.  Address  Mead  y  Tolworthy, 
St.  Paul  Building." 

Kayton  smiled  grimly. 

"Did  the  papers  bite?" 

"Well,  yesterday's  Telegram  played  it  up.  Their 
men  beat  it  to  Tolworthy's,  and  when  they  couldn't 
find  out  anything  they  chucked  in  some  more  mys- 
tery about  a  new  murder  clue  and  a  missing  heir 
to  the  Argyle  estate." 

The  chief  chuckled. 

"Well,  if  she  doesn't  see  the  'Personal,'  that  ought 
to  reach  her." 

As  he  spoke  the  bell  of  the  desk  telephone  rang 
sharply.  Kayton  pulled  the  apparatus  to  him  and, 
after  listening  a  moment,  spoke  into  it: 

"Mr.  Hurley?  Oh — ask  him  to  come  in."  Hastily 
hanging  up  the  receiver,  he  turned  to  his  assistant. 
"Here,  Joe,  take  these  telegrams — they're  all  mixed 
up  with  half  a  dozen  aliases  for  each  counterfeiter. 
Pick  out  the  information  and  make  a  sort  of  record 
of  past  performances — sit  over  there  at  the  desk — 
and  keep  an  ear  this  way  on  Hurley." 

Taking  off  his  coat  and  hat,  the  young  man  hung 
them  up.  This  done,  he  took  the  bunch  of  tele- 
grams from  the  chief's  desk  over  to  the  corner  of 

134 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

the  room,  where  he  had  his  own  desk,  and  sat  there 
looking  them  over.  While  he  was  thus  occupied  the 
door  of  the  outer  office  was  pushed  open  and  Mr. 
Hurley  appeared. 

The  lawyer  gave  a  swift,  keen  glance  round  the 
office  to  see  who  was  there;  then,  removing  his  hat 
with  more  politeness  than  he  usually  showed,  he 
advanced  to  the  desk  and  said: 

"I  just  wanted  to  speak  to  you  for  a  moment, 
Mr.  Kayton." 

The  detective  looked  up  and  gave  the  visitor  a 
cool  nod.  Carelessly  he  answered: 

"Glad  to  see  you  any  time,  Mr.  Hurley.  I  ex- 
pect to  get  a  good  deal  of  assistance  from  you." 

The  lawyer  laughed  nervously. 

"I  dont  know  about  that;  but,  of  course,  I'll  be 
glad  to  do  anything  I  can." 

The  detective  held  out  a  box  of  cigars. 

"Smoke?" 

"Thanks." 

The  lawyer  took  a  seat  and,  lighting  a  cigar, 
crossed  his  legs  comfortably.  After  a  few  puffs  in 
silence,  he  said: 

"By  the  way,  in  line  with  your  theory,  that  it 
was  an  old  servant  who  was  blackmailing,  it  occurred 
to  me  that  they  used  to  have  a  coachman  who  may 
have  had  a  grievance  because  the  chauffeur  sup- 
planted him." 

Kayton  looked  up  quickly. 

"Do  you  remember  his  name,  Mr.  Hurley?" 

"No;    but  I  suppose  the  family  would  have  it." 

"Thanks.     I'll  look  him  up." 

Another  silence  followed,  during  which  both  men 

I3S 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

puffed  away  quietly  at  their  cigars.  Every  now  and 
then  the  detective  gave  his  visitor  a  swift,  sideways 
glance,  as  if  trying  to  read  what  was  really  passing 
in  the  lawyer's  mind. 

What  was  the  real  motive  of  this  visit  ?  Certainly 
not  to  talk  about  coachmen  with  grievances.  No; 
it  was  impossible  to  give  Mr.  Hurley  credit  for  such 
unselfishness.  He  would  hardly  have  taken  the 
trouble  to  call  merely  to  tell  him  that.  The  real 
object  of  his  visit  probably  was  to  learn  something 
of  more  immediate  concern  to  himself. 

Suddenly  Mr.  Hurley  broke  the  silence.  Casual- 
ly he  remarked: 

"I  saw  the  Mead  &  Tolworthy  'Personal'  in  the 
Herald  yesterday,  and  thought  it  might  be  a  new 
clue;  but  they  say  not.  Thev  referred  me  to 
you." 

Pretending  to  be  busy  with  his  papers,  Kay  ton 
for  a  moment  made  no  answer.  Then,  after  a 
pause,  he  said,  unconcernedly: 

"Yes,  they  consulted  me.  In  Mr.  Argyle's  will 
drawn  up  by  old  Mr.  Tolworthy  there  was  a  legacy 
to  a  Miss  Nellie  Marsh — the  present  firm  has  no 
knowledge  of  any  Nellie  Marsh.  That  information 
evidently  died  with  old  Mr.  Tolworthy  and  Mr. 
Argyle.  They  asked  me  to  find  her,  thinking  there 
might  be  some  scandal." 

The  lawyer  listened  eagerly. 

"Yes— yes— " 

"And  for  that  reason  I  used  only  the  initials 
N.  M.  Did  you  ever  hear  Mr.  Argyle  refer  to  a 
Miss  Marsh?" 

Mr.  Hurley  sat  back  in  his  chair,  and  in  his  ex- 

136 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

asperating  self-important   manner  replied,  senten- 
tiously: 

"Well,  now,  I'll  tell  you  about  that.  When  we 
were  discussing  the  new  will  we  didn't  get  to  the 
lesser  legatees." 

The  detective  shook  his  head. 

"It's  too  large  a  sum  to  have  been  simply  a  be- 
quest to  an  old  servant.  It  runs  up  in  the  thou- 
sands." 

"Well,  in  that  case  the  person  will  doubtless  be 
expecting  to  be  remembered  by  Mr.  Argyle,  and 
show  up." 

He  rose,  as  if  the  conversation  had  taken  a  turn 
that  no  longer  interested  him.  The  detective 
watched  him  for  a  moment  in  silence,  and  then  he 
said,  carelessly: 

"Oh  yes,  the  whole  thing  may  be  perfectly  inno- 
cent; but  to  avoid  anything  unpleasant  for  the  family 
the  lawyers  thought  they'd  better  be  on  the  safe 
side.  You  understand,  Mr.  Hurley,  this  is  strictly 
confidential." 

"Oh,  of  course,  of  course — certainly." 

At  that  moment  the  telephone-bell  rang.  Kayton 
picked  up  the  receiver.  After  listening,  he  said: 

"Ask  him  to  wait  a  minute!" 

The  lawyer  made  a  move  in  the  direction  of  the 
door. 

"Well,  I  won't  take  up  any  more  of  your  time." 

"Going  so  soon?     Come  in  again,  Mr.  Hurley." 

"  Thank  you,  I  will.  I  shall  be  interested  to  hear 
if  there  are  any  new  developments  in  the  case." 

"I'll    keep   you   posted,"    smiled    the   detective, 
politely,  as  he  saw  his  caller  to  the  door. 
10  137 


CHAPTER  XII 

A>  the  sound  of  the  lawyer's  footsteps  died  away 
the  detective  turned  to  his  assistant.     Trium- 
phantly he  exclaimed:  "Looks  like  a  nibble,  Joe." 

"It  certainly  does,"  grinned  the  youth. 

Again  the  telephone-bell  rang  sharply.  Kayton 
unhooked  the  receiver,  and  after  listening  a  second 
said,  cordially: 

"Ask  Mr.  Colt  to  come  in." 

Outside  in  the  outer  office  a  big,  hearty  voice  was 
heard  saying: 

"All  right,  Leish,  I'll  go  right  in." 

The  door  was  thrown  open,  and  there  entered  a 
big,  thick-set  man  with  a  breezy  manner.  He  was 
well  fed  and  well-salaried  looking,  like  most  govern- 
ment employees. 

"Hello,  you  old  plutocrat!"  was  his  cordial  greet- 
ing, as  he  caught  sight  of  the  detective. 

"Hello,  Colt,"  laughed  Kayton. 

The  new-comer  turned  about  and  glanced  curious- 
ly round  the  room. 

"You've  got  an  office  like  a  bloated  Senator, 
haven't  you?  What  you  tryin'  to  do  to  us  with 
that  hundred-dollar  bill?" 

Kayton  looked  up  eagerly. 

"Well,"  he  demanded,  "is  it  phony?" 

138 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

The  Secret  Service  officer  drew  the  note  from  his 
pocket  and  nodded. 

"Yes;  but  it's  a  dandy!  It's  better  than  the  real. 
You've  got  the  luck  of  a  drunken  Indian." 

"That's  what  they  all  call  it,"  smiled  Kay  ton. 

"You  go  out  on  a  measly  murder  case  and  stub 
your  toe  on  a  thing  like  this!  Let  me  tell  you — 
it's  a  bomb  under  the  Treasury.  We've  wired 
Washington,  and  they've  got  a  scare  out  all  over  the 
country.  If  you  turn  up  the  man  who  made  that 
the  Republicans  '11  elect  you  President." 

Kay  ton  laughed  heartily  as  he  retorted: 

"The  Republicans  will  have  a  hell  of  a  time 
electing  anybody  President." 

"I  never  have  any  luck  like  that,"  grumbled  Colt, 
handing  him  back  the  note. 

Kayton's  eyes  twinkled  mischievously. 

"You're  not  Irish,"  he  laughed. 

"Yes,  I  am  too;  but  it  was  so  mild  it  didn't 
take." 

Taking  a  box  of  his  choicest  cigars  from  their 
hiding-place  in  a  lower  drawer,  the  detective  held 
it  out. 

"Smoke,  Colt?" 

"Sure." 

The  agent  took  a  cigar. 

"Have  any  others  turned  up?"  demanded  Kayton, 
his  mind  full  of  the  business  on  hand. 

Colt  lit  his  cigar  leisurely.  Laconically  he  an- 
swered : 

"No,  but  the  country  may  soon  be  crawling 
with  'em." 

Putting  the  cigar-box  down  on  the  table,  Kayton 
139 


THE   ARGYLE   CASE 

went  over  to  the  window  and  stood  carefully  inspect- 
ing the  note. 

"How  do  you  suppose  they  ever  put  it  together?" 
he  asked. 

The  agent  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"It's  a  photographic  process — that's  a  cinch.  No 
hand  ever  touched  that  plate.  Look  at  the  lathe- 
work." 

Colt  settled  himself  down  comfortably  in  his  chair. 
The  day  was  young,  and  Kayton's  cigars  were  ex- 
cellent. There  was  no  reason  why  he  should  hurry 
away.  He  would  stop  and  talk  awhile.  Taking 
off  his  hat,  he  absent-mindedly  placed  it  on  his  host's 
desk,  much  to  the  horror  of  Kayton,  who,  resenting 
the  sacrilege,  immediately  handed  it  back  to  him. 
The  agent  took  it  without  offense  and  unconsciously 
replaced  it  on  his  head.  Still  thinking  of  the  counter- 
feit, he  went  on: 

"And  look  at  the  ink." 

"Perfect!"  exclaimed  Kayton.  "How'd  you  ever 
get  on  to  it?" 

"Why,  some  of  these  silk  fibers  struck  me  as  off 
color."  Explosively,  he  went  on:  "Say,  this  sort  of 
thing  is  going  to  knock  the  currency  into  a  cocked 
hat.  Pretty  soon  you  won't  be  able  to  take  money 
from  a  man  unless  he  gives  you  a  Masonic  grip 
with  it.  And  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  found 
that  bill  in  a  millionaire's  desk?" 

Kayton  smiled. 

"It  seems  impossible,  but  I  did." 

The  agent  shook  his  head. 

"It  seems  incredible  that  a  man  in  Argyle's 
position  should  mix  himself  up  with  a  gang  of 

140 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

criminals  who'd  blackmail  him  for  the  rest  of  his 
life." 

"I  know.  Talk  about  mysteries,  Colt!  This  is 
the  only  real  mystery  I  ever  met." 

"Have  you  got  any  clue?" 

"Well,  I'm  playing  a  long  shot."  Holding  out  the 
banknote,  he  added:  "Couldn't  any  of  you  experts 
down  at  the  office  give  a  wild  guess  whose  work 
this  was?" 

The  agent  shook  his  head  thoughtfully. 

"No.  There  isn't  a  counterfeiter  on  the  books 
could  do  it.  The  man  who  got  that  up  has  been 
quietly  experimenting  for  years." 

Kayton  turned  to  his  assistant. 

"Let  me  have  that  list,  Joe." 

Opening  a  drawer  in  the  archives,  the  young  man 
took  out  a  paper  containing  the  names  of  well-known 
criminals  already  convicted  for  counterfeiting.  Kay- 
ton  glanced  it  over. 

"How  about  Brockton?"  he  said,  musingly. 

Colt  shook  his  head. 

"H'm — he  hasn't  been  out  long  enough." 

"Could  old  man  Rich  have  done  it?" 

Tipping  back  in  his  chair,  Colt  carelessly  flicked 
off  his  cigar-ash,  which  fell  to  the  highly  polished 
floor.  To  Joe,  who  had  been  watching  his  free 
and  easy  behavior  with  growing  disapproval  ever 
since  he  came  in,  this  was  the  last  straw.  Rising 
with  a  scowl  and  coming  forward,  he  kicked  away 
the  ash  and  then  returned  indignantly  to  his  seat, 
quite  unnoticed  by  the  agent,  whose  mind  was 
intent  on  Kayton's  suggestion.  Colt  shook  his 
head. 

141 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"Oh  no;  he's  too  feeble.  It  may  be  a  new-comer 
in  the  business." 

Laying  the  list  down  on  the  desk,  Kayton  passed 
his  hand  over  his  brow.  Thoughtfully  he  said: 

"I've  got  a  hunch  that  it's  one  of  that  'Frisco  gang 
that  was  rounded  up  about  fifteen  years  ago." 

Colt  looked  up  in  surprise. 

"Who  do  you  mean?" 

Instead  of  replying,  Kayton  made  a  gesture  to  his 
assistant. 

"Joe,  get  me  those  wires  from  'Frisco."  The  young 
man  handed  him  two  telegrams,  and  he  went  on: 

"There's  a  'Frisco  woman  in  the  background  of 
the  Argyle  case.  She  was  supposed  to  be  dead.  I 
wired  for  information  and  found  she'd  been  sent  to 
prison  with  a  gang  of  counterfeiters.  Here  it  is — 

Holding  up  one  telegram,  he  read  aloud: 

' e  Nellie  Marsh  sentenced  to  St.  Quentin  for  three 
years  about  time  of  reported  death.  Implicated  with 
Webster  gang  counterfeiters.' '  Holding  up  the  other, 
he  again  read:  "' N.  M.  left  state,  expiration  of  sen- 
tence. No  further  record  here.' '  Looking  up,  Kay- 
ton went  on:  "Now  you  remember,  Colt,  that  the 
man  who  made  the  plate  for  that  Webster  gang 
was  Kreisler  —  Friederick  Kreisler.  He  did  some 
pretty  crafty  work,  and  he  hasn't  been  heard  from 
since." 

The  agent  started  bolt  upright  in  his  chair. 

"That's  so!"  he  exclaimed.  "Gee!  That  counter- 
feit note  hooked  up  with  Argyle,  and  Argyle  with 
the  woman,  and  the  woman  with  the  Webster  gang 
— makes  a  noise  like  a  lockstep!" 

"Don't  it?"  chuckled  the  detective. 

142 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"I  should  say  it  does!" 

In  his  excitement  he  again  flecked  off  his  cigar- 
ash,  but  this  time  catching  sight  of  Joe,  who  was  still 
watching  him,  he  hastily  covered  the  ashes  with  his 
foot  and  glanced  apprehensively  in  the  direction  of  the 
assistant's  desk.  With  a  subdued  chuckle  he  said: 

"I  swear  you've  certainly  got  the  luck!" 

"I  haven't  got  the  woman  or  the  man,"  replied 
Kayton,  grimly. 

The  agent  laughed. 

"Oh,  you'll  wake  up  to-morrow  and  find  'em 
scratchin'  at  the  door." 

Before  Kayton  could  reply  the  door  of  the  outer 
office  opened,  and  Leishman  entered  with  an  opened 
telegram,  which  he  handed  to  his  superior.  Quickly 
Kayton  glanced  it  over. 

"A  wire  from  Washington.  The  chief  '11  be  here 
at  two  o'clock." 

Colt  rose.     With  a  laugh  he  said: 

"I'll  bet  he's  bringing  a  bad  case  of  St.  Vitus' 
dance  with  him.  Got  the  whole  Secret  Service  on 
the  thing  now.  I'm  off." 

"  Don't  go,  Colt,"  said  Kayton,  with  a  good-natured 
laugh. 

Colt  grinned. 

"Oh,  you  discourage  me!  Things  come  so  damned 
easy  to  you." 

Stooping  quickly,  he  grabbed  a  handful  of  cigars 
from  the  box  on  the  desk  and,  putting  them  in  his 
pocket,  walked  out  of  the  office  laughing  loudly, 
while  Kayton,  eying  the  dilapidated  cigar-box  with 
dismay,  hastened  to  hide  it  away  before  another  raid 
could  be  made  on  it. 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

Joe  looked  after  the  retreating  agent  with  scorn. 
Contemptuously  he  said: 

"He's  got  a  lazy  man's  grouch,  gov'nor.  He 
seems  to  think  everything  you  do  is  luck." 

Kayton  smiled. 

"Good  luck's  like  lightning,  Joe.  It  strikes  the 
man  who  keeps  out  in  the  rain." 

"I  guess  you  draw  it,  gov'nor,  because  you're 
some  live  wire." 

The  chief  picked  up  the  telephone  receiver.  With 
a  gesture  of  good-natured  impatience  he  exclaimed : 

"Cut  that,  Joe.  No  bouquets.  Get  me  Mead 
&  Tolworthy."  As  he  hung  up,  he  turned  to  his 
assistant  and  said: 

"Joe,  we've  got  all  the  rocks  flying  with  that 
counterfeit." 

The  youth  chuckled. 

"Yes;  I  was  just  thinking — that  murder  was  hard 
on  the  Argyles,  but  it  was  a  great  thing  for  the 
government." 

The  telephone-bell  rang.  Kayton  spoke  into  the 
receiver: 

"Yes — hello — Mr.  Tolworthy?  This  is  Kayton. 
Have  you  heard  anything  from  our  'N.  M.'  'Per- 
sonal'? Yes,  Hurley  was  in  to  see  me.  Oh!  .  .  . 
When  did  she  call  you  up?  Just  now?  Oh — did  you 
think  she  was  a  reporter?  Did  you  refer  her  to  me? 
Well,  that  was  right.  .  .  .  No,  she  hasn't  shown  up 
yet.  .  .  .  I'm  much  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Tolworthy." 
Hanging  up  and  turning  to  his  assistant,  he  said : 

"Joe,  tell  the  outer  office  that  if  any  woman  comes 
from  Mead  &  Tolworthy  I  want  to  see  her  right 
away." 

144 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

The  young  man  looked  up.     Eagerly  he  asked : 

"  'N.  M.'  heard  from,  gov'nor?" 

"Well,  some  woman  called  up  Mead  &  Tol- 
worthy  a  few  minutes  ago." 

"Oh,  just  after  Hurley  left?" 

"Exactly." 

Joe  winked  at  his  chief,  a  piece  of  familiarity  he 
only  permitted  himself  to  do  at  most  important  and 
critical  moments. 

"Then  it  was  a  nibble?"  he  cried,  triumphantly. 

Kayton  nodded.     With  a  grim  smile  he  replied: 

"No,  Joe — a  bite.  He  swallowed  it — hook,  line, 
and  sinker." 

The  assistant,  a  broad  grin  on  his  face,  went  out  of 
the  office  just  as  Mr.  Leishman  came  in.  The 
manager  had  in  his  hand  some  papers  which  he  held 
out  to  the  chief. 

"Mr.  Argyle  and  Mrs.  Wyatt  are  waiting  to  see 
you,  gov'nor." 

"Show  them  right  in." 

The  manager  went  out  to  summon  the  visitors. 
As  he  disappeared,  the  telephone-bell  rang.  Kayton 
picked  up  the  receiver,  and  after  listening  a  moment 
replied  with  some  impatience: 

"Who?  .  .  .  Well,  no.  Tell  him  I  can't  see 
him.  Ask  him  to  come  to-morrow  morning.  No — I 
won't  see  him!" 

He  hung  up  the  receiver  just  as  Bruce  and  Mrs. 
Wyatt  entered  from  the  outer  office.  Putting  down 
his  cigar,  he  rose  and  said,  politely: 

"Good  morning!" 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Kayton,"  said  Bruce,  cor- 
dially. 

H5 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"Good  morning,  Mrs.  Wyatt.  Won't  you  be 
seated?" 

They  sat  down,  and  the  detective  looked  from  one 
to  the  other,  wondering  what  had  brought  them. 
Bruce  soon  enlightened  him. 

"Mr.  Kayton,  Mrs.  Wyatt  has  remembered  some- 
thing my  father  said  that  she  thinks  might  be  a  real 
clue  for  you  to  work  on." 

The  housekeeper,  fussy  and  voluble  as  ever, 
leaned  heavily  on  the  chief's  desk  at  the  risk  of 
spilling  many  of  the  papers. 

"Yes,  I  don't  know  what  brought  it  into  my  mind." 

Nervously,  almost  unconsciously  she  moved  the 
telephone  which  stood  between  her  and  Kayton. 
Instantly  the  detective  seized  it  and  put  it  back. 
She  noticed  his  annoyance  and,  murmuring  an 
apology,  continued: 

"I  was  eating  breakfast — drinking  my  coffee — 
when  suddenly  it  came  to  me.  I  mean  to  say,  I 
recalled  distinctly  a  conversation  that  we  had  once 
at  the  table  when  he  was  reading  the  morning  paper. 
I  couldn't  repeat  his  words  exactly,  but  whatever  he 
said  was  suggested  by  a  case  in  the  paper.  Do  you 
know  what  I  mean  ? " 

"But  you  told  me —  "  interrupted  Bruce. 

Kayton  put  out  a  hand. 

"Just  a  moment,  Mr.  Argyle."  Turning  to  the 
housekeeper,  he  asked:  "Do  you  remember  what 
the  case  was  in  the  paper?" 

She  shook  her  head  dubiously. 

"Well,  I  can't  say  positively.  I  mean  to  say,  I 
don't  know.  But  what  he  said  was  that  he  had  gone 
into  something — 

146 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"Of  what  sort?" 

"Well,  that  he  was  speculating  or  investing — and 
he  wished  he  hadn't.  And  what  I  felt  at  the  time 
was — I  distinctly  remember  it — that  he  was  in 
danger — " 

"Of  what?"  demanded  Kayton. 

"That  he  was  in  danger  of — of  being  taken  ad- 
vantage of— 

Bruce  made  an  impatient  exclamation. 

"Why,  you  told  me  somebody  was  trying  to  black- 
mail him!" 

She  shook  her  head  helplessly. 

"I  know.  But  I've  been  thinking  it  all  over,  and 
it's  much  more  clear  to  me.  Do  you  know  what  I 
mean  ?" 

"Then  you  don't  think  it  was  a  blackmailing  case 
in  the  paper?"  interrupted  Kayton. 

The  housekeeper  smirked. 

"Well,  I  don't  know.  I  think  it  was  Mr.  Bruce 
who  put  that  in  my  mind." 

"You  don't  recall  the  date  of  the  paper?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"No;  but  it  must  have  been  before  I  went  away, 
because  it  was  his  death  that  brought  me  back,  you 
know." 

Kayton  nodded. 

"I  see.  Thank  you  very  much,  Mrs.  Wyatt. 
It's  quite  possible  that  a  man  in  Mr.  Argyle's  posi- 
tion should  have  thought  himself  liable  to  be  taken 
advantage  of." 

Mrs.  Wyatt  beamed. 

"I  was  sure  you'd  see  something  in  it.  I'll  be 
so  glad  if  I've  thought  of  it  in  time  to  help.  I 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

mean  to  say,  it  seems  as  if  we'd  never  find  out  the 
truth." 

Kayton  rose  in  self-defense,  and  she  rattled  on. 

"I  don't  mean  to  hurry  you,  Mr.  Kayton."  With 
a  gesture  of  despair  the  detective  sank  back  in  his 
seat,  and  she  continued:  "But  here  are  the  papers 
again  this  morning,  trying  to  show  now  that  Bruce 
did  it,  and  that's  just  as  awful  as  to  say  that  Mary 
did  it.  And,  by  the  way,  I  want  to  know  what  that 
N.  M.  'Personal'  meant?  They  told  me  to  ask  you." 

"Well,  Mrs.  Wyatt,  that's  simply  an  attempt  to 
reach  an  old  employee  named  Nathan  Mills." 

"Oh,  I  thought  perhaps — I  thought  it  meant — " 

Bruce  now  came  to  the  rescue.  Breaking  in,  he 
said: 

"You've  got  an  appointment,  Mrs.  Wyatt." 

Again  Kayton  rose  as  if  the  interview  were  ended. 
Bruce  moved  toward  the  door,  followed  reluctantly 
by  the  housekeeper.  Before  she  had  gone  half-way, 
however,  Mrs.  Wyatt  turned  round.  Explosively 
she  burst  forth  again: 

"After  eleven  o'clock!  Good  gracious!  What  will 
my  dressmaker  say?  I'm  so  sorry,  Mr.  Kayton. 
One  has  to  keep  appointments  on  time  with  a  dress- 
maker just  like  doctors  and  dentists,  and  I  suppose 
it's  the  same  way  with  detectives.  They  keep  you 
waiting  hours,  but  that  doesn't  matter  because, 
you  see,  you  pay  them.  Do  you  know  what  I 
mean  ?" 

Bruce  bustled  her  unceremoniously  toward  the 
door.  Hastily  he  said: 

"I'll  go  down  to  the  taxi  with  you." 

"Good-by,"  said  Kayton,  with  a  smile. 

148 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

His  irony  and  Bruce's  impatience  did  not  escape 
the  housekeeper.  Again  halting,  she  exclaimed, 
testily: 

"I  know  you  both  think  I'm  talking  too  much; 
but  when  I  have  anything  to  say  I  have  to  say  it 
my  own  way.  I  shouldn't  have  said  anything  if 
you  hadn't  asked  me  to — now  don't  hurry  me! 
I'm  not  going  without  saying  good-by  to  Mr. 
Kayton." 

Afraid  she  would  come  back,  the  detective  has- 
tened forward. 

"Good-by,  Mrs.  Wyatt." 

"Good-by!"  she  said,  frigidly,  with  offended  dig- 
nity. 

She  went  out  grandly,  followed  by  Bruce.  They 
had  no  sooner  disappeared  than  Leishman  appeared. 

"Gov'nor,  will  you  please  sign  these  papers?" 
Indicating  the  room  at  the  back  with  a  nod,  he  added, 
quickly:  "Miss  Masuret  is  here." 

"All  right,"  said  Kayton,  closing  his  cabinet. 

Hastening  to  the  door,  he  opened  it  and  called  out: 

"Come  in,  Miss  Masuret.  I'm  delighted  to  see 
you.  How  are  you  to-day?" 


CHAPTER  XIII 

IT  was  no  longer  with  fear  and  trembling  that 
Mary  Masuret  came  into  the  presence  of  the 
world-famous  detective.  She  felt  rather  that  she 
was  coming  to  see  a  friend.  During  all  the  dark, 
agonizing  days  of  doubt  and  suspicion,  when  every 
one's  hand  seemed  raised  against  her,  Mr.  Kayton 
alone  had  shown  her  kindness  and  consideration. 
Instead  of  an  implacable  enemy  she  had  found  in 
him  a  champion.  Quickly  convinced  of  her  inno- 
cence, he  had  taken  prompt  and  effective  steps  to 
silence  once  for  all  the  cruel,  baseless  rumors  that 
had  circulated  about  her,  and  he  had  threatened 
with  legal  proceedings  any  newspaper  which  printed 
anything  further  reflecting  upon  her  character. 
For  this  and  other  services  rendered  at  such  a  critical 
time  the  young  girl  could  not  but  feel  deeply  grate- 
ful. Indeed,  it  was  more  than  gratitude  that  she 
owed  him.  She  felt  that  she  would  be  hopelessly  in 
his  debt  all  her  life. 

Kayton  smilingly  held  out  his  hand  as  the  young 
girl  came  in,  making  no  effort  to  conceal  the  fact 
that  he  was  glad  to  see  her.  She  took  it  shyly,  and 
for  a  moment  they  stood,  hands  clasped,  without 
speaking.  Finally,  breaking  the  silence  which  had 
begun  to  embarrass  her,  he  repeated: 

"How  are  you  this  morning?" 

150 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

Her  voice  was  slightly  constrained  and  manner 
nervous  as  she  answered,  in  a  low  voice: 

"Very  well,  thank  you." 

She  advanced  farther  into  the  room,  and  he 
pointed  to  a  seat  near  his  desk.  But  she  did  not 
sit  down,  and  for  a  few  moments  he  also  stood, 
watching  her  closely. 

"Did  you  have  any  trouble  getting  down  here?" 

She  smiled  wearily  as  she  answered: 

"The  reporters  were  in  front  of  the  house,  so  I 
came  out  the  servants'  entrance  on  the  side  street. 
And  I  didn't  wear  mourning — I  was  afraid  it  would 
attract  attention."  Changing  her  tone  abruptly  and 
turning  to  face  him,  she  added,  quickly:  "Mr.  Kay- 
ton,  didn't  you  promise  me  that  you  wouldn't  make 
public  what  I  said  about  Bruce  coming  back  that 
night?" 

He  smiled. 

"No,  I  didn't  promise  you,  but  I  didn't  make  it 
public." 

She  clasped  her  hands  with  delight.  Impulsively 
she  cried: 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad — because  I  trusted  you — be- 
lieved in  you!  Then  it  must  have  been  Bruce." 

She  sank  into  the  chair  close  to  the  desk  and 
looked  up  at  him  with  eyes  in  which  there  shone  a 
soft  light  of  gratitude  for  all  he  was  doing  for  her. 
He  looked  at  her  in  silent  admiration  for  a  moment, 
and  then  he  said: 

"Yes,  I  suppose  he  gave  it  out  himself.  Miss 
Masuret,  if  anything  comes  up  again,  or  if  I  do 
anything  that  you  don't  understand,  please  don't 
lose  faith  in  me.  There  may  be  several  things  about 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

this  case  that  I'll  never  be  able  to  explain  to  you. 
It's  bad  enough  for  you  to  have  been  dragged  into 
it,  and  I  want  to  save  you  all  the  annoyance  I  can." 

Again  she  clasped  her  hands  ecstatically. 

"Oh,  you're  so  good  to  me!  I  don't  know  what 
I'd  do  without  you!" 

He  laughed  as  he  retorted,  quickly: 

"Please — don't  try  to  do  without  me!" 

He  had  leaned  forward  as  he  said  it,  and  there  was 
a  look  in  his  eyes  and  an  earnestness  in  his  voice  that 
made  the  girl's  cheeks  burn.  She  drew  away  slightly 
embarrassed,  and  the  detective,  noticing  it,  pulled 
himself  up  with  a  jerk.  Amiably  he  went  on: 

"To  me  the  pleasantest  part  of  our  work  is  the 
fact  that  we  are  usually  able  to  help  some  one  in 
trouble.  We're  different  from  police  detectives. 
They're  paid  by  society  to  punish  the  criminal.  We 
are  retained  by  the  victims  of  the  criminals  for  their 
protection.  They  are  punishing  the  strong;  we  are 
protecting  the  weak." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  new  interest.  Quickly 
she  said: 

"Oh,  I  didn't  realize  that!  You  love  your  work, 
don't  you  ? " 

"Love  it!  Indeed  I  do!  We  are  like  doctors  or 
surgeons.  We  go  from  case  to  case,  or  from  opera- 
tion to  operation,  helping  the  unfortunate  and 
fighting  the  disease  of  crime."  With  a  mischievous 
sigh  he  added:  "And  as  in  the  case  of  the  doctors— 
when  our  patients  are  well,  and  they've  paid  us— 
they  soon  forget  us." 

She  made  a  quick  motion  of  protest  with  her  hand, 
and  almost  involuntarily  exclaimed: 

152 


THE   ARGYLE   CASE 

"Oh,  I  shall  never  forget  you!" 

Again  he  leaned  forward  and  looked  at  her  ear- 
nestly. In  a  low  tone  he  murmured: 

"I  wish— " 

But  what  he  was  about  to  say  remained  unfinished, 
for  at  that  moment  the  office  door  was  swung  open 
and  Joe  entered  unceremoniously. 

"Gov'nor!" 

"Well?"  snapped  Kay  ton,  annoyed  at  the  inter- 
ruption. 

The  assistant  made  an  eager,  expressive  gesture. 

"The  woman  from  Tolworthy's  is  here." 

Kayton  started.  His  manner  underwent  a  quick 
change.  Once  more  he  was  the  detective,  eager  to 
seize  and  follow  every  possible  clue  in  pursuit  of  his 
quarry.  This  new  caller  was  too  important  to  be 
allowed  to  get  away.  Hastily,  he  whispered: 

"Just  a  minute,  Joe.  Take  Miss  Masuret  into 
Leishman's  office  and  have  her  wait  there  while  I 
see  the  woman."  Turning  to  the  young  girl,  he 
added:  "Miss  Masuret,  this  may  be  very  important. 
Please  don't  go  until  I  see  you  again." 

She  rose  docilely  and,  following  the  assistant,  passed 
out  intd  the  office  at  the  back.  Kayton  watched  her 
until  she  disappeared,  and  then  with  a  sigh  he  closed 
the  door  and  went  back  to  his  desk.  He  wondered 
vaguely  why  he  was  so  reluctant  to  have  her  leave 
the  office,  if  only  for  a  few  minutes.  He  felt  singu- 
larly happy  when  talking  to  her  and  looking  into  her 
innocent,  soulful  eyes.  He  was  asking  himself  why 
he  had  never  married,  and  if  such  a  girl,  had  he 
met  her  sooner,  might  have  tempted  him.  Then 
suddenly  he  pulled  himself  up  with  a  jerk.  When 

11  153 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

there  was  serious  business  to  be  done  he  never 
allowed  his  mind  to  dwell  on  sentiment.  Quickly  he 
plunged  again  into  the  midst  of  the  work  on  hand, 
and  when  Joe  re-entered  he  found  his  employer  busy 
preparing  the  stage-setting  for  the  little  comedy  he 
was  about  to  enact  with  the  lady  from  Tolworthy's. 

"Get  that  deep  ink-well,  Joe." 

Rummaging  about,  the  assistant  finally  found 
what  was  required  and  brought  it  to  the  desk. 
Kayton  nodded  approval. 

"Where  are  the  prepared  blotters?"  he  whispered. 

"Second  drawer,  I  think." 

Kayton  opened  the  drawer  and  found  some. 

"Here  we  are!"  he  chuckled.  Placing  them  on 
the  desk  by  the  side  of  the  ink-well,  he  added : 

"All  ready,  Joe!" 

The  young  man  started  to  leave  the  room.  Kayton 
halted  him. 

"See  that  we're  not  disturbed.  Don't  let  any  one 
come  in  until  I  ring  this  bell.  Then  answer  it 
yourself." 

Seating  himself  at  the  desk,  Kayton  assumed  the 
appearance  of  being  very  preoccupied  signing  letters. 
A  moment  later  Joe  re-entered  ushering  in  a  visitor. 

"This  way,  please." 

A  woman  of  about  forty  entered  and,  after  one 
quick,  searching  glance  at  the  detective,  stood  still, 
looking  curiously  about  her.  She  was  plainly,  even 
shabbily  dressed,  but  she  had  a  grand  air,  and  her 
dignified  bearing  and  the  sad,  melancholy  expression 
on  her  wan  face  suggested  that  she  had  known  better 
days. 

Seeing  that  the  detective  did  not  look  up  or  pay 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

any  attention  to  her,  she  advanced  timidly  toward 
the  desk.  Joe  pointed  to  a  chair. 

"Take  a  seat,  madam.  Mr.  Kay  ton  will  be  dis- 
engaged in  just  a  moment.'* 

"Thank  you." 

She  sat  down,  and  Joe  went  out,  closing  the  door. 

For  a  few  moments  there  was  a  deep  silence, 
broken  only  by  the  ticking  of  the  office  clock  and  the 
scratching  of  the  detective's  pen  as  he  went  on  with 
the  signing  of  his  letters.  The  visitor  moved  about 
uneasily  on  her  chair.  Presently,  without  looking  up, 
Kay  ton  said: 

"You've  been  referred  to  me  by—  He  paused 
a  moment  to  again  sign  his  name  and  added:  "Mead 
&  Tolworthy?" 

The  visitor  turned  slightly  toward  him.  Quietly 
she  said: 

"Yes — I  answered  their  advertisement." 

Still  pretending  to  be  busy,  the  detective  went  on: 

"You  have  some  information  concerning  the  per- 
son advertised  for?" 

"Yes." 

He  looked  up  for  the  first  time  since  she  entered, 
and  for  a  moment  he  was  startled:  her  likeness  to 
Mary  was  extraordinary.  Fixing  her  with  a  steady 
gaze,  he  said,  quickly: 

"Then  you  must  know  the  name  those  initials 
N.  M.  stand  for.  We  took  that  means  of  avoiding 
publicity.  You're  not  a  newspaper  woman?" 

She  shook  her  head  as  she  answered  quietly: 

"No— I  am  Nellie  Marsh." 

He  bowed  politely. 

"Oh!"  he  exclaimed.     Then,  resuming  work  on  his 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

correspondence  as  if  not  greatly  surprised  or  im- 
pressed, he  went  on:  "I  suppose  you  have  some  proof 
of  your  identity  besides  your  mere  knowledge  of  the 

5  " 

name  r 

She  took  out  a  card  and,  rising,  went  over  to  the 
desk  and  handed  it  to  him. 

"My  present  name  is  Martin — Mrs.  Martin." 

Kayton  took  the  bit  of  pasteboard  and  read  it. 
Dubiously  he  asked: 

"East  Green  Street?  Not  a  very  desirable  neigh- 
borhood. Is  that  your  present  address?" 

She  nodded. 

"Yes;  I  rent  furnished  rooms.  It  is  very  quiet 
there — and  cheap." 

Again  he  looked  at  her  keenly. 

"Furnished  rooms?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  Mrs.  Martin,"  he  said,  carelessly,  "Mr. 
Argyle  has  left  a  considerable  sum  of  money  to 
Nellie  Marsh  for  reasons  that  you  doubtless  know;  so 
we  have  taken  this  rather  unusual  way  of  getting 
in  touch  with  you.  Did  you  expect  to  be  a  bene- 
ficiary under  the  will?" 

She  hesitated  a  moment  before  replying.  Then 
quietly  she  said: 

"The  legacy  has  been  left  to  me  because  of  an 
obligation  on  Mr.  Argyle's  part  to  my  dead  husband, 
who  assisted  him  at  a  time  when  he  greatly  needed 
money.  There  are  personal  reasons  why  I  don't 
care  to  make  myself  known  to  the  family,  and  if  I 
can  receive  this  money  without  any  inconvenient 
curiosity,  I  should  be  very  glad  to  have  it," 

He  nodded. 

156 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

"That  can  be  arranged.  All  we  need  is  a  proof  of 
identity.  Have  you  received  money  from  Mr. 
Argyle  before?" 

"Yes — for  a  good  many  years." 

"Did  you  sign  receipts?" 

"No.  .  .  ." 

"Did  you  ever  write  to  Mr.  Argyle?" 

Again  she  hesitated  before  answering: 

"Not  recently." 

"I  ask  because  it  may  save  a  great  deal  of  red 
tape  if  we  could  establish  the  identity  by  signature. 
Otherwise,  I  suppose  you  will  have  to  obtain  a  copy 
of  your  birth  certificate,  make  affidavits,  and  procure 
witnesses  to  satisfy  the  executors  and  the  Probate 
Court." 

The  visitor  shifted  uneasily  about  on  her  chair. 

"Wouldn't  that  involve  a  good  deal  of  expense?" 
she  asked. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"I  suppose  it  would — yes.  Do  you  think  your 
signature  might  be  found  among  his  papers?" 

"Why,  yes;  my  indorsement  of  checks — if  he  kept 
them." 

In  a  manner  quite  cool  and  unconcerned,  Kayton 
rose  from  his  seat  and  politely  invited  her  to  come 
behind  the  desk  and  take  his  place.  With  assumed 
carelessness,  he  said: 

"Well,  then,  if  you'll  leave  your  signature  with 
me  I'll  turn  it  over  to  the  lawyers." 

"Thank  you,"  she  smiled. 

Not  suspecting  the  trap,  the  visitor  removed  her 
glove  and,  going  behind  the  desk,  took  the  de- 
tective's seat,  while  Kayton  stood  by,  apparently 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

with  great  politeness,  and  placed  a  piece  of  paper 
for  her  to  write  on.  Suddenly  he  dipped  a  pen  deep 
into  the  ink-well,  and  then,  as  quickly,  and  as 
though  absent-mindedly,  placed  the  wet  pen  in  her 
fingers.  She  took  the  preferred  pen  without  look- 
ing, and,  finding  it  was  wet  and  had  inked  her  hand, 
dropped  it  with  a  little  exclamation  of  dismay, 
holding  up  her  blackened  hand  with  consternation. 
Instantly  Kayton  bent  over  her  shoulder,  and  care- 
fully dried  her  hand  on  the  specially  prepared  blot- 
ter, securing  a  good  impression. 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon!"  he  exclaimed.  "Don't 
get  it  on  your  glove.  Let  me.  I  always  forget  about 
that  ink-well.  Try  this  pen." 

Handing  her  another  pen,  he  passed  behind  her 
and  threw  the  inked  blotter  into  the  waste-paper 
basket,  after  which  he  resumed  his  first  position 
near  her.  Dipping  the  new  pen  gingerly  into  the 
ink-well,  she  wrote  out  her  name.  Again  he  bowed 
politely. 

"Thank  you.     That  '11  be  all." 

Rising  from  the  chair,  the  visitor  turned  to  go. 

"You  have  my  address.     I'll  hear  from  you?" 

Meantime  Kayton  had  picked  up  the  caller's 
visiting-card  and  stood  reading  it. 

"Yes,"  he  replied.  Then,  as  if  an  idea  had  sud- 
denly struck  him,  he  added:  "Just  a  moment,  Mrs. 
Martin."  She  stopped  short,  and  he  went  on: 
"I'm  in  a  very  peculiar  position,  and  it  has  just  oc- 
curred to  me  here  you  might  help  me." 

"I?" 

"I  suppose  you've  followed  the  newspaper  reports 
of  Mr.  Argyle's  death  and  our  investigation?" 

158 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"Yes— closely." 

It  did  not  escape  his  well-trained  eye  that  she  gave 
an  almost  imperceptible  start  at  the  mention  of 
the  murder.  Not  letting  her  see  that  he  noticed  it, 
he  continued: 

"Then  you  have  seen  that  suspicion  has  been  di- 
rected against  his  adopted  daughter?" 

Moving  farther  toward  the  door,  her  head  averted 
so  he  could  not  see  her  face,  she  replied: 

"Yes — it  seemed  to  me  very  cruel." 

He  nodded  as  he  went  on  emphatically: 

"Exactly.  Miss  Masuret  must  be  protected  from 
the  daily  annoyance  of  reporters  and  photographers. 
The  poor  girl's  on  the  point  of  breaking  down.  You 
know  even  an  innocent  woman  will  do  and  say 
things  to  implicate  herself  if  she's  tried  beyond  the 
limit  of  her  strength." 

The  visitor  gave  a  little  gasp  and  staggered  to  a 
seat. 

"Yes — yes — of  course,"  she  said,  sympathetically. 

Watching  her  closely,  Kay  ton  continued: 

"She  is  so  watched  that  it  is  impossible  for  us  to 
get  her  away  anywhere  without  its  being  known,  and 
yet  it  is  necessary  for  our  purposes  to  make  the  real 
criminal  confident  that  we  are  off  the  trail.  To  be 
frank  with  you,  we  suspect  a  former  member  of  the 
household." 

"Indeed?"  she  said,  guardedly,  but  in  a  tone  that 
suggested  she  was  anxious  to  learn  more. 

Kayton  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Then  he  went 
on: 

"We  want  Miss  Masuret  to  disappear,  and  to  dis- 
appear so  completely  that  not  even  a  member  of 

159 


THE   ARGYLE   CASE 

her  own  household  will  suspect  that  we  have  any- 
thing to  do  with  it.  Any  flight  by  train  would  be 
instantly  found  out.  It  must  be  secret  and  sensa- 
tional. Her  closest  friends  must  be  in  a  state  of  the 
greatest  alarm.  Do  you  follow  me?" 

"Yes— yes— but— " 

Without  waiting  to  hear  her  objections,  he  went 
on: 

"Well,  then  you  must  see  yourself,  Mrs.  Martin, 
that  you  are  in  just  the  right  position  to  help  us. 
Your  relations  with  the  family  are  absolutely  un- 
known. I  am  sure  I  could  trust  to  your  discretion. 
No  one  connected  with  her  would  ever  connect  her 
with  you,  and  you  can  receive  her  without  explana- 
tion to  any  one  as  a  total  stranger  into  one  of  your 
furnished  rooms." 

She  shook  her  head  as,  with  averted  face,  she 
replied : 

"Mr.  Kayton,  that's  something  I  wouldn't  like 
to  undertake." 

"Why  not?"  he  asked,  sharply.  "Your  house  is 
respectable,  isn't  it?" 

Again  she  hesitated. 

"Why,  yes—" 

"All  I  ask  is  secrecy,"  he  went  on. 

There  was  an  expression  of  genuine  distress  on 
her  face  as  she  replied: 

"The  responsibility  would  be  so — besides,  as  I 
told  you,  I  am  not  known  to  any  members  of  the 
family,  and  I  don't  wish  to  be.  There  are  reasons — 
it  doesn't  seem  necessary  to  go  into  them — " 

"Not  at  all,"  he  interrupted,  quickly.  "I  will 
simply  introduce  you  to  Miss  Masuret  as  some  one 

160 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

connected  with  this  office  whom  I  have  chosen  for 
this  purpose." 

"But  you  hardly  know  me — I  might  not  be  the 
right  sort  of  person  at  all,"  she  objected. 

He  smiled  encouragingly. 

"I  have  been  studying  you.  I'm  a  fair  judge  of 
character;  I  know  I  can  trust  you." 

She  wrung  her  hands,  as  if  at  a  loss  what  to  say, 
unwilling  to  do  what  he  asked,  yet  afraid  to  refuse. 

"But,  Mr.  Kayton — "  she  stammered. 

He  interrupted  her. 

"Even  if  you  had  not  this  sense  of  gratitude  to 
Mr.  Argyle,  which  I'm  sure  you  must  feel,  I  know  I 
can  rely  on  your  sympathy  as  a  woman  for  a  poor 
girl  in  a  very  desperate  plight." 

A  silence  followed,  during  which  the  detective 
and  his  visitor  looked  fixedly  at  each  other,  each 
trying  to  read  the  other's  thoughts. 

Did  this  man,  this  detective,  know  when  he  made 
this  strange  request  that  she  could  not  refuse,  that 
her  instinct  as  a  mother  urged  her  to  go  at  once  to 
Mary  and  clasp  the  poor  child  to  her  bosom?  Alas, 
that  happiness  she  could  never  know  again!  The 
past  was  forever  buried !  The  girl  must  never  know 
that  her  mother  was  still  living.  Yet,  if  her  ano- 
nymity could  be  preserved,  why  should  she  not  pro- 
tect her  to  the  extent  of  her  power?  It  could  do  no 
harm.  Her  associates  could  not  grudge  her  that 
little  happiness,  and  certainly  Friederick  would  deny 
her  nothing.  Growing  impatient  at  the  delay, 
Kayton  asked,  coldly: 

"Well,  what  is  your  decision?" 

Still  wavering,  undecided,  she  looked  at  him  for 

161 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

a  moment  in  silence.  Then  all  at  once,  as  if  she 
had  made  up  her  mind  that  it  would  be  dangerous 
to  refuse  anything  to  this  man,  from  whom  thick 
walls  and  bolts  and  bars  had  no  secrets,  she  asked, 
suddenly: 

"When  do  you  want  her  to  come?" 

"Now!"  he  replied,  firmly. 

"Now— right  away?"  she  echoed,  in  dismay. 

Kayton  rose  from  his  desk  and  pressed  an  electric- 
bell  button. 

"She  is  here,  waiting  to  see  me." 

"Here — she's  here?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Martin,  with 
emotion.  Rising  quickly,  she  asked:  "I  am  to  see 
her?" 

He  pretended  not  to  notice  her  agitation,  and  his 
face  was  turned  from  her  as  he  answered,  carelessly: 

"Yes.  I  would  like  her  to  go  home  with  you 
now.  Fll  see  her  first  and  explain  everything." 

At  that  moment  the  door  of  the  outer  office  opened, 
and  Joe  appeared  in  answer  to  the  bell.  Kayton 
pointed  to  his  caller. 

"Joe,  give  Mrs.  Martin  a  chair  in  the  inner  office, 
make  her  very  comfortable,  and  see  that  she  is  not 
disturbed." 

"Yes,  sir." 

Mrs.  Martin  followed  the  assistant  out,  and  the 
door  closed  behind  them.  Immediately  his  visitor 
had  disappeared,  Kayton  opened  a  drawer  in  his 
desk  and  took  out  the  photographic  print  of  the 
finger-impressions  on  the  table  in  the  Argyle  library. 
Then,  picking  from  the  waste-paper  basket,  where  he 
had  thrown  it,  the  blotter  marked  with  the  im- 
pression of  his  visitor's  hands,  he  hastily  compared 

162 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

the  two.     He  was  thus  engaged  when  his  assistant 
returned. 

"Be  careful  of  that  woman,  Joe,"  he  said,  warn- 
ingly. 

"Is  it  Miss  Masuret's  mother?"  demanded  the 
young  man,  eagerly. 

"Can't  you  see  the  family  likeness  in  the  face?" 

Advancing  on  tiptoe  to  the  desk,  the  young  man 
inquired : 

"Did  you  get  her  finger-prints?" 

"Did  I?"  laughed  Kay  ton,  studying  the  two  with 
a  magnifying-glass. 

"Are  they  mates?" 

Suddenly  the  chief  gave  a  joyful  exclamation. 

"Good  God!    Look,  Joe!" 

The  assistant  gave  one  look,  and  then  uttered  a 
stifled  whoop  of  triumph. 

"Gee!" 

Without  waiting  to  see  or  hear  more  he  jumped 
for  the  door  and  disappeared.  Kayton,  much 
amused,  picked  up  the  telephone. 

"Leishman!" 

The  next  instant  the  manager  entered  the  office. 
Quickly  the  chief  gave  him  orders.  Giving  him  Mrs. 
Martin's  card,  he  said: 

"Tell  Nash  to  start  his  men  on  this  house  in  East 
Green  Street  right  away.  Get  a  room  next  door  so 
as  to  take  in  wires  from  a  detectaphone.  Have  them 
shadow  and  report  to  me  everybody  that  connects 
with  the  place.  Tell  them  to  go  slow  and  keep 
under  cover.  Get  me  Miss  Masuret." 

"Yes,  sir." 

Going  to  the  door,  he  called  out: 

163 


THE   ARGYLE   CASE 

"Oh,  Miss  Masuret!" 

Mary  appeared  on  the  threshold  and  slowly  ad- 
vanced into  the  office.  Immediately  Leishman  went 
out,  closing  the  door.  Kayton,  seated  at  his  desk, 
beckoned  to  the  young  girl  to  approach.  Gravely, 
yet  with  a  note  of  triumph  in  his  voice  that  he  could 
not  entirely  conceal,  he  said: 

"Miss  Masuret,  I  have  found  the  woman  who  was 
in  the  room  when  Mr.  Argyle  was  killed." 

The  girl  started  and  turned  pale. 

"A  woman!"  she  exclaimed. 

He  nodded. 

"I  have  absolute  proof  of  it  here  in  her  finger- 
prints." 

She  turned  quickly,  as  if  about  to  leave  the  office. 

"Oh,  we  must  tell  Bruce!" 

Kayton  shook  his  head. 

"Not  yet.  I  have  no  reason  for  thinking  that  this 
woman  committed  the  murder.  She  may  be  inno- 
cent. But  she  knows  who  did  it,  and  we  can  find 
it  out  through  her." 

"How?"  she  asked,  breathlessly. 

He  looked  at  her  in  silence  for  a  moment.  Then, 
slowly  and  earnestly,  he  said: 

"I'm  going  to  ask  you  to  do  something  that  will 
take  all  your  courage." 

"Yes— yes!" 

"And  I  know  I  can  rely  on  you." 

"What  can  I  do?"  she  demanded,  eagerly. 

"The  people  who  are  responsible  for  the  murder 
of  Mr.  Argyle  are  all,  as  we  say,  under  cover — 
they're  keeping  away  from  each  other.  And  even 
if  we  had  them  all  separately  under  surveillance, 

164 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

no  amount  of  shadowing  would  connect  them  with 
each  other  or  with  this  crime.  We  must  take  them 
off  guard.  Do  you  understand  ?" 

She  listened,  greatly  interested. 

"Yes— yes!" 

He  continued: 

"We  must  do  something  at  once  to  confirm  all 
the  suspicions  against  you.  We  must  make  it 
seem  that  you  have  practically  admitted  your 
guilt." 

The  girl  opened  wide  her  eyes. 

"How?"  she  asked. 

"By  flight.     I  want  you  to  disappear." 

"Disappear?"  she  echoed,  breathlessly,  as  she  sank 
into  a  seat. 

He  nodded. 

"Yes.  This  woman's  name  is  Martin.  She  keeps 
a  furnished  lodging-house.  There  are  reasons  why 
she  has  consented  to  take  you  as  a  lodger  secretly. 
We  must  gain  access  to  this  house  without  arousing 
suspicion,  and  we  can  do  it  through  you.  I  can 
visit  you  there  myself — my  men  can  come.  You'll 
have  nothing  to  fear.  You'll  be  protected  every 
moment.  I  will  send  you  one  of  these  little  detecta- 
phones." 

"A  detectaphone!" 

"Yes,  it's  like  a  telephone,  only  much  more  sen- 
sitive. It's  a  wonderful  little  instrument.  Conceal 
it  in  your  room.  Drop  the  wire  out  of  your  window, 
and  my  men  will  connect  with  it.  You  must  go 
away  without  letting  Bruce  or  Mrs.  Wyatt  or  your 
maid  —  in  fact,  any  one  —  know  where  you  are. 
Will  you  trust  me  enough  to  let  me  involve  you 

165 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

this  way  publicly  and  then  clear  you  when  we  find 
the  real  criminal?" 

"Yes—" 

He  saw  that  she  hesitated,  and  he  hastened  to  re- 
assure her. 

"  I  would  never  let  you  do  this  unless  I  were  abso- 
lutely sure  that  you  will  be  safe  and  that  I  can  clear 
you  later." 

"Don't  think  about  that,"  she  said,  quickly. 
"I'll  do  anything  you  say." 

He  rose  from  his  seat.     Earnestly  he  said: 

"Thank  you.  Mrs.  Martin  is  here.  Will  you 
go  now?" 

The  girl  trembled,  but  bravely  she  said : 

"Yes,  I  will  go." 

As  he  pressed  an  electric  button,  he  said : 

"You  understand  that  if  you  do  the  slightest  thing 
to  betray  yourself,  everything  fails." 

"I  won't  fail  you,"  she  replied,  firmly. 

As  she  spoke,  the  assistant  entered.  Kayton 
looked  up. 

"Joe,  bring  in  Mrs.  Martin." 

The  young  man  went  out,  and  the  detective  turned 
to  Mary. 

"Have  you  money  enough  with  you?" 

"Yes."  Then  all  at  once  she  burst  out:  "Oh— 
I  dread  to  meet  her!" 

She  looked  at  him  as  if  expecting  some  expression 
of  sympathy,  but  there  was  no  sentiment  in  him 
now.  His  head  was  filled  only  with  business. 
Coldly  he  answered: 

"I  must  ask  you  to  show  no  feeling  of  repulsion 
for  this  woman." 

166 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"I  won't,  I  won't,"  she  gasped  in  a  whisper. 

Steps  were  heard  approaching.  The  dreaded 
meeting  was  at  hand.  Mary  gripped  hold  of  the 
chair  near  her  and  stood  rigidly  waiting.  The  door 
opened,  and  Mrs.  Martin  entered. 

Instantly  the  woman's  eyes  sought  the  young  girl, 
and  as  she  staggered  rather  than  walked  forward 
there  was  in  her  line-marked  face  an  expression  of 
dread,  curiosity,  and  yearning  maternal  affection  in 
spite  of  her  effort  at  self-command.  She  halted  and 
stood  still,  her  eyes  fixed  on  Mary. 

Kayton,  busy  at  his  desk,  pretended  to  notice 
nothing.  In  a  businesslike  manner,  he  said: 

"Mrs.  Martin,  this  is  Miss  Masuret." 

Again  the  woman  advanced,  this  time  her  hands 
outstretched.  Her  lips  trembling,  her  voice  betray- 
ing the  supreme  effort  she  was  making  to  remain 
calm,  she  said,  very  gently: 

"My  dear,  will  you  come  with  me?" 

At  the  word,  Mary  relaxed  slowly  and  turned  and 
looked  at  her.  Then,  as  if  unconsciously  drawn  to 
her,  she  crossed  over  to  the  stranger,  and  put  a 
hand  in  the  one  outstretched  to  receive  it,  and  so 
they  stood  for  a  moment  looking  earnestly  into  each 
other's  eyes,  while  Kayton  sat  as  if  still  preoccupied 
at  his  desk. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

EAST  GREEN  STREET,  Manhattan,  had  an 
unsavory  reputation.  It  boasted  of  being  the 
wickedest  street  of  its  size  in  the  world.  The 
favorite  resort  of  gunmen  and  desperadoes  of  all 
kinds,  it  was  known  to  the  police  as  one  of  the 
plague  spots  in  the  city,  and  although  from  time  to 
time  public  clamor  had  been  raised  to  clean  the  thor- 
oughfare out,  nothing  had  been  done.  Thanks  to 
political  pull  enjoyed  by  the  local  dive-keepers,  there 
was  open  defiance  of  law  and  decency,  and  all 
kinds  of  dangerous  joints  had  been  permitted  to  run 
wide  open  in  the  neighborhood.  In  the  very  center 
of  the  big  town's  most  congested  and  vicious  dis- 
trict, just  off  the  Bowery,  it  was  the  preferred  haunt 
of  every  known  variety  of  crook.  Burglars,  pick- 
pockets, confidence  men,  prostitutes,  cadets — all  met 
here  in  obscure,  sinister  saloons  to  plot  and  scheme 
new  jobs  in  this  sordid  clearing-house  of  crime. 

Not  only  was  it  one  of  the  foulest,  but  it  was  also 
one  of  the  narrowest  and  tortuous  thoroughfares  in 
the  metropolis.  Unlike  most  New  York  streets,  it 
did  not  run  in  a  straight  line,  but  followed  a  curved, 
zigzag  course  through  the  foulest  of  the  city's  slums. 
The  ill-paved  roadway,  never  cleaned  or  flushed,  was 
full  of  cesspools  and  refuse  which,  having  been 
allowed  to  rot  in  the  rain  and  sun,  sent  up  a  stench 

168 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

that  shrieked  to  heaven.  On  either  side  towered 
grim,  hideous  tenements  with  broken  windows 
patched  with  paper,  rusty  fire-escapes  littered  with 
rubbish,  and  dark,  sinister  halls,  the  plaster  of  which 
had  long  since  fallen  in  great  chunks,  exposing  the 
wooden  lathing.  In  the  daytime,  when  the  sun- 
light invaded  every  nook  and  corner,  exposing  the 
filth  and  squalor  in  its  most  hideous  aspect,  there 
was  little  vestige  of  life.  Occasionally  a  half-starved 
cat  limped  across  the  road  in  hope  of  scratching  a 
meal  out  of  a  heap  of  decaying  garbage,  and  from 
time  to  time  sounds  of  drunken  revelry  issued  from 
behind  tightly  closed  shutters.  Otherwise,  the  street 
appeared  deserted  by  God  and  man. 

One  house  alone  showed  indications  of  being  occu- 
pied. A  trifle  less  dilapidated  than  its  neighbors,  it 
was  a  four-story  building  with  a  high  stoop  and  a 
heavy  door  always  kept  locked.  Its  occupants  were 
seldom  if  ever  seen  out.  At  times  a  face  would  ap- 
pear at  a  window  and  was  as  instantly  withdrawn  if 
any  chance  passer  happened  to  glance  that  way. 
At  night  lights  glimmered  behind  the  closely  shut 
shutters  of  the  attic  floor,  apparently  the  only  part 
of  the  house  inhabited.  If  one  stood  outside  under 
cover  of  a  hallway  and  watched  the  house  long 
enough,  the  inmates  might  be  seen  slinking  forth 
under  cover  of  the  darkness  of  night,  passing  fur- 
tively in  and  out,  ever  careful  to  glance  behind  to  see 
if  they  were  followed. 

To-day  again  there  was  a  face  at  the  attic  window, 
the  face  of  a  woman  once  beautiful,  but  now  worn 
and  haggard,  seamed  with  indelible  lines  of  time  and 
sorrow.  Cautiously  opening  the  wooden  shutter,  she 

12  169 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

leaned  out  and  looked  up  and  down  the  street  as  if 
expecting  some  one.  In  a  few  minutes,  tired  of  the 
vigil,  she  withdrew  into  the  room,  and  sank  wearily 
onto  a  sofa. 

The  room,  such  as  it  was,  was  shabbily  and  scantily 
furnished — a  small  cheap  table  in  the  center,  a  few 
rickety  chairs,  and  a  broken-down  couch.  A  window 
looked  onto  the  street,  and  in  the  ceiling  was  a  trap- 
door leading  to  the  roof,  with  ladder  ready  for  use. 
A  door  at  the  far  end  of  the  room  led  to  the  dark 
staircase  outside. 

Mrs.  Martin  glanced  anxiously  at  the  battered 
timepiece  which  ticked  noiselessly  on  the  mantel. 
Seven  o'clock.  It  was  time  Friederick  returned. 
Could  anything  have  happened?  Was  it  possible 
that  the  police  had  discovered  their  hiding-place  and 
arrested  him  before  he  had  finished  the  new  ten- 
dollar  counterfeit  which  was  to  make  them  rich 
enough  to  give  up  this  dangerous  game  for  good 
and  go  away  to  some  distant  country  where  they 
might  both  enjoy  the  few  years  still  left  to  them  ? 

When  Helen  Masuret  had  realized  one  day  that 
she  had  ceased  to  care  for  her  crippled  husband  and 
that  the  handsome,  fascinating  Friederick  Kreisler 
had  completely  won  her  heart,  she  did  not  hesitate 
to  make  the  last  sacrifice  a  woman  can.  No  scruples 
of  honor  or  conscience  deterred  her  or  were  allowed 
to  stand  in  the  way  of  her  mad  infatuation.  A  few 
brief  words  hastily  penned,  and  she  left  her  home  and 
baby  daughter  forever  to  follow  the  fortunes  of  the 
man  she  loved.  She  had  paid  no  heed  to  what  was 
openly  said  about  Kreisler.  What  cared  she  that 
he  was  a  gentlemanly  crook  who  sooner  or  later  would 

170 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

get  his  deserts?  She  only  knew  that  she  loved  this 
tall,  picturesque,  masterful  man,  whose  keen  intelli- 
gence, undaunted  courage,  unquestioned  ability  had 
defied  the  police  of  two  hemispheres.  She  ran  away 
with  him,  and  for  a  long  time  the  romance  was  all 
that  she  had  dreamed.  That  was  twenty  years  ago. 
To-day  they  were  still  together.  Passion's  fires  had 
cooled  somewhat,  yet  she  loved  Kreisler  as  much  as 
ever.  The  years,  however,  had  left  their  mark. 
In  her  heart  she  knew  she  had  been  an  unfaithful 
wife,  an  unworthy  mother.  Even  her  love  for 
Kreisler,  unselfish  as  it  had  been,  could  not  atone  for 
that,  and  the  knowledge  of  her  base  degradation 
had  eaten  into  her  soul  and  left  her  at  the  age  of 
forty  an  embittered,  broken-hearted  woman.  To- 
day what  was  there  left  to  her?  Only  traces  of  her 
one-time  beauty  and  the  regrets  of  a  life  that  she 
herself  had  shattered.  Her  husband  was  long  since 
dead,  and  her  little  daughter,  now  full  grown  to 
womanhood  and  adopted  by  a  millionaire,  was  living 
in  the  same  city,  unconscious  of  her  mother's  exist- 
ence. Oh,  the  agony  of  it!  Many  a  time  had  she 
stood  for  hours  watching  John  Argyle's  residence 
merely  in  the  hope  of  seeing  Mary  from  the  distance. 
She  knew  she  could  never  claim  her.  Even  if  the 
law  gave  her  the  right,  she  would  not  exercise  it. 
The  people  she  associated  with  were  no  fit  com- 
panions for  a  pure  young  girl.  She  would  never  let 
her  learn  that  her  mother  was  the  associate  of 
criminals. 

Again  she  glanced  at  the  clock.  Half  past  seven! 
Now  she  was  really  alarmed.  Something  must  have 
happened.  Suddenly  a  noise  made  her  sit  up  with 

171 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

a  start.  An  electric  buzzer,  carefully  concealed  over 
the  transom  of  the  door,  was  emitting  a  loud,  crackling 
sound,  giving  warning  of  some  one's  approach.  Who 
was  it?  Her  heart  in  her  mouth,  she  ran  out  on  the 
landing  and,  looking  over  the  shaky  bannisters,  gave 
an  exclamation  of  joy.  It  was  Friederick.  A  mo- 
ment later  the  counterfeiter  entered  the  room. 

A  man  in  the  early  fifties,  tall,  thin,  and  rather 
gaunt,  Friederick  Kreisler  would  have  attracted  im- 
mediate attention  anywhere.  A  leonine  head  was 
crowned  by  a  mass  of  iron-gray  hair,  not  long,  but 
picturesquely  disheveled.  His  eyes  were  intense, 
and  flashed  like  living  coals  under  heavy  dark 
brows.  Distinguished  in  appearance,  with  a  smooth, 
intellectual-looking  face,  few  could  have  guessed  that 
the  greater  part  of  this  man's  life  had  been  spent  in 
prison,  and  that  he  was  one  of  the  most  expert  and 
dangerous  counterfeiters  that  ever  gave  trouble  to 
the  United  States  government. 

He  smiled  wearily  as  he  came  in  and  saw  who  was 
there  to  greet  him.  His  face  was  pale,  his  features 
drawn.  He  stooped  slightly,  and  had  a  harassing 
cough. 

"I  was  so  anxious,  dear,"  she  faltered.  "I  was 
afraid  they'd  got  you." 

Again  he  smiled — the  tired  smile  of  a  man  who 
realizes  that  the  end  is  not  far  off,  that  the  battle  is 
nearly  ended,  and  that  in  a  little  while  nothing  will 
matter  very  much.  He  kissed  her  in  silence  and 
stroked  her  hair  tenderly. 

"My  dear  heart,  you  are  very  tired,"  he  mur- 
mured. 

She  looked  beseechingly  up  into  his  face. 

172 


THE   ARGYLE   CASE 

"  Friederick,  I  want  you  to  give  it  all  up.  Let's 
go  away!" 

Drawing  slightly  away,  he  looked  down  at  her 
with  surprise.  Almost  reproachfully  he  said: 

"Where  is  your  courage,  my  dear?  Where  is 
your  courage?" 

She  averted  her  face  so  he  should  not  see  her 
tears,  and  sank  down  in  a  chair  near  the  table. 

"I  don't  know,  Friederick.  I'm  terribly  afraid. 
I'm  panic-stricken.  There's  been  too  much  —  too 
much — Argyle's  death — " 

He  held  up  his  hand  warningly. 
'  "'Ssh!" 

Tearfully  she  went  on: 

"And  yesterday  with  that  detective!  Oh,  I 
shouldn't  have  gone  there!" 

Hanging  up  his  coat  and  changing  it  for  a  lighter 
one,  Kreisler  made  an  exclamation  of  impatience. 

"That  was  Hurley's  advice!  Always  greedy  for 
money!" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"No.  I  risked  it  myself — for  the  money — honest 
money.  I  wanted  to  be  able  to  say  to  you:  'Here, 
now  we  have  enough.  Let  us  cut  loose  from  this 
life — from  all  these  people.'  Friederick,  I  want  to 
be  safe!" 

He  laughed  carelessly  as  he  unlocked  a  secret 
drawer  in  the  table  and  lifted  out  a  tin  box  which  he 
also  leisurely  unlocked. 

"Foolish  little  fears,"  he  said.  "We  are  safe 
enough  here.  Think  of  all  the  years  that  I've  spent  to 
make  us  safe."  Raising  the  lid  of  the  box  and  taking 
out  a  new  ten-dollar  bill,  he  held  it  up  exultingly: 

173 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"Look  at  it — isn't  it  perfect!  I  could  pass  that 
even  to  the  experts  of  the  Treasury.  It  will  be  the 
first  time  in  the  history  of  the  world,  and  it  is  I 
who  shall  do  it!  In  a  few  weeks  the  whole  country 
will  be  flooded  with  them — Chicago,  Denver,  San 
Francisco,  New  Orleans,  Boston,  and  New  York — 
all  on  the  same  day!  Then  we  can  go  out  with  the 
whole  world  for  our  playground." 

She  shook  her  head  as  she  replied  bitterly: 

"Yes!  Yes!  But  we  shall  always  be  hunted — 
hunted  wherever  we  go.  We  can  never  get  away 
from  it.  It's  too  big,  Friederick — it's  too  big. 
They'd  never  let  a  man  who  could  make  a  bill  like 
that  escape.  You  know  that  if  one  of  these  men  were 
caught  he'd  betray  you  to  save  himself.  The  gov- 
ernment would  pardon  him — would  pardon  them 
all — to  get  you.  Safe!  Every  prison  in  the  world 
would  be  yawning  for  you." 

He  listened  in  silence  while  he  put  the  counterfeit 
note  away  again  and  carefully  relocked  the  box. 
When  she  mentioned  the  word  "prison"  the  lines 
about  his  mouth  tightened.  Calmly  yet  deter- 
minedly he  said: 

"I  shall  never  go  to  prison  again!  If  I'm  caught 
I'll  kill  myself." 

With  a  sound  that  was  like  a  sob  she  cried: 

"Then  I  hope  to  God  you'll  kill  me,  too,  Friederick. 
I'd  never  have  the  courage  to  kill  myself,  and  it 
would  be  the  end  of  everything  for  me." 

Leaning  forward  on  the  table,  she  let  her  head 
fall  on  her  outstretched  arms,  and  remained  there 
motionless,  a  pathetic  figure  of  an  unhappy,  broken 
woman. 

174 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

His  eyes  moistened  as  he  watched  her.  His  heart 
bled  for  this  woman  who  had  sacrificed  everything 
for  him.  Caressing  her,  he  said,  gently: 

"Ah,  you  are  the  great  soul!  You  gave  up  every- 
thing for  me.  You  left  everybody.  You  gave  up 
even  your  little  daughter.  You  shared  prison  with 
me,  and  I — I  am  the  selfish  one!  And  now,  when  I 
say  I  would  take  my  life,  you  would  share  death 
with  me!  Ah,  you  are  the  great  soul!" 

Raising  her  head,  she  looked  up  and  smiled  at  him 
through  her  tears. 

"Oh,  if  I  could  only  make  you  feel  as  I  do!  I'm 
so  depressed!  Friederick,  this  is  a  great  thing  that 
you've  invented — this  process  of  color  photography. 
Think  what  can  be  done  with  it.  It  would  bring 
fame  to  you  and  an  honest  fortune." 

He  nodded. 

"Yes,  my  love,  in  an  honest  world.  But  they 
would  cheat  me.  They  would  steal  it;  and,  see,  I 
must  have  money  to  finance  it — to  protect  it. 
Then  when  all  this  blows  over — in  Germany,  per- 
haps— who  knows?" 

She  shook  her  head.     Sadly  she  said: 

"I'm  growing  too  old  to  play  the  game  any 
longer." 

He  smiled  kindly  at  her,  and  his  hand  caressed 
her  hair  as  he  answered: 

"That  will  never  be.  It  is  not  we  who  grow  old. 
It  is  the  little  fat  life  that  gathers  gray  mold  like 
a  cheese.  You  and  I,  mein  herz,  we  keep  young 
with  living — loving!  Fear,  trouble,  disgrace,  prison, 
separation,  poverty,  love,  happiness,  hope,  wealth — 
that  is  to  live." 

175 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"Oh,  I  know,  Friederick!  You  love  the  gamble — 
the  danger — you  love  it  better  than  safety  and  happi- 
ness. Now  when  we  could  have  each  other,  a  little 
money — this  legacy — to  live  on,  you'll  go  ahead 
this  way  and  risk  your  life  and  my  life.  If  we're 
caught  it's  nothing  but  the  snap  of  a  trigger  to  you, 
but  to  me  it  would  be  years  and  years  of  hateful, 
empty  life  alone." 

She  rose  and,  going  over  to  the  window,  stood 
looking  out  into  the  street. 

"How  shall  a  man  change  himself?  It's  the  ad- 
venture in  me  you  love,"  he  went  on. 

"No,  no,  it  isn't  that.  I  would  go  through  any- 
thing with  you  or  for  you,  but  this  means  that  I'm 
risking  you!  I  know  you  would  kill  yourself  with- 
out a  thought  that  you  would  be  leaving  me." 

He  rose  and  approached  her.     Earnestly  he  said: 

"I  tell  you  I  can  never  go  to  prison  again  with 
those  brutes  to  be  flogged  and  degraded.  I  came 
out  after  those  ten  years  of  torture,  all  the  color 
gone  out  of  my  skin,  all  the  life  gone  out  of  my  legs ! 
I  came  out  after  those  ten  years  to  get  even  with 
the  world,  and  they  shall  never  put  their  dirty 
hands  on  me  again  while  I  am  alive!" 

She  made  an  exclamation  of  terror  and  staggered 
a  step  toward  him,  unable  to  speak,  holding  out  her 
hand  in  silent  protest.  Already  regretting  the  self- 
ish brutality  of  his  speech,  he  made  a  quick  step 
forward  and  seized  her  in  his  arms.  Soothingly  he 
exclaimed : 

" Mein  Liebschen,  what  difference  would  it  make? 
If  they  catch  me  now  they  would  never  let  me  free 
to  be  with  you  again.  I  would  die  then  by  inches." 

176 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

She  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck. 

"Oh,  if  you'd  only  listen  to  me — if  you'd  only 
come  away — if  you'd  only  come  away!" 

As  she  spoke  the  electric  buzzer  again  gave  out 
its  warning.  Some  one  had  entered  the  house  and 
was  coming  up  the  stairs.  Quickly  Kreisler  put  the 
box  inside  the  table  and  slipped  a  revolver  in  his 
pocket.  Some  one  was  coming.  Was  it  friend  or 
foe? 


CHAPTER  XV 

ASCHE  KAYTON  chuckled.  At  last  he  had  hit 
•**•  the  right  trail.  Friederick  Kreisler  and  his 
fellow-counterfeiters  were  as  good  as  behind  the 
bars.  So  much  for  that  part  of  the  Argyle  case. 
There  still  remained  the  murder,  the  most  im- 
portant phase  of  the  problem.  The  question  as  to 
who  actually  killed  John  Argyle  was  still  as  deep  a 
mystery  as  on  the  morning  the  body  was  discovered, 
but  the  scent  was  getting  hotter  every  hour,  and  the 
detective  was  convinced  that  the  capture  of  the 
counterfeiters  would  lead  right  to  the  murderer.  He 
was  confident  that  the  dead  banker  was  in  some 
way  mixed  up  with  the  gang,  and  that  they  knew 
more  about  his  death  than  they  cared  to  admit. 

It  was  part  of  Kayton's  method  to  do  nothing 
hastily.  To  insure  complete  success  for  the  raid 
there  must  be  no  mistakes.  Careful  preparations 
were  necessary.  Nothing  must  be  left  to  chance. 
Miss  Masuret  was  already  installed  as  a  boarder  at 
No.  20  East  Green  Street,  and  through  her  enough 
had  already  been  gleaned  to  know  that  the  house 
was  the  headquarters  of  as  desperate  a  gang  of  crooks 
as  ever  wore  convict  stripes.  Under  pretense  of 
calling  on  the  young  girl,  and  not  sorry  for  the  oppor- 
tunity thus  afforded  of  seeing  her  again,  Kay  ton  him- 
self had  been  able  to  see  and  get  the  lay  of  the 

178 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

premises,  and  during  these  visits  he  contrived,  with 
Joe's  agile  assistance,  to  make  elaborate  preparations 
preliminary  to  a  spectacular  raid.  The  greatest 
secrecy  had  to  be  observed.  Constantly  on  the 
watch,  guarded  by  their  lookouts  and  electric  buzz- 
ers, Kreisler  and  his  associates  considered  them- 
selves immune.  If  they  had  known  Kayton  better, 
they  would  have  been  less  confident  and  doubled 
their  vigilance.  As  it  was,  they  suspected  nothing 
and  continued  working  with  a  sense  of  full  security. 
The  preparations  took  time,  but  they  were  im- 
perative. It  would  have  been  simple  enough  to 
surround  the  house  and  make  arrests  wholesale,  but 
Kayton  would  not  then  have  learned  what  he  wanted 
to  know.  He  had  conceived  the  idea,  and  it  was  one 
that  grew  stronger  each  minute,  that  if  he  could  only 
listen  and  overhear  the  members  of  the  gang  talking 
he  would  have  something  that  would  lead  right  to  the 
man  who  killed  Mr.  Argyle.  Feeling  quite  secure  and 
secluded  in  their  attic,  so  far  from  prying  ears,  the 
counterfeiters  talked  freely.  This  conversation  they 
must  listen  to,  and  there  was  only  one  way  to  do  it. 
They  must  install  the  detectaphone,  and  have 
several  of  his  own  men  concealed  at  the  other  end 
of  the  wire  taking  down  every  word  verbatim.  Once 
the  idea  conceived,  he  quickly  carried  it  out,  and, 
aided  by  his  operatives,  he  profited  one  day  by  the 
house  being  deserted  to  install  this  astonishing  little 
instrument,  the  most  sensitive  transmitter  of  sound 
known  to  modern  science.  It  was  Kayton  who  had 
first  used  the  apparatus  in  his  work  and  attracted 
attention  to  its  possibilities  as  a  detector  of  crime. 
Most  of  his  convictions,  especially  in  the  graft  cases, 

179 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

had  been  secured  by  its  use,  and  he  himself  was 
enthusiastic  in  its  praise.  For  all  detective  purposes 
or  use  wherever  secret  observation  and  reporting  of 
conversation  is  necessary  he  had  proved  it  invalu- 
able. By  its  use  his  operator  at  the  receiving  end 
was  enabled  to  hear  every  audible  sound  made  in  the 
room  where  the  transmitter  was  concealed.  Con- 
versation carried  on  in  undertones  and  even  whis- 
pers was  distinctly  heard  a  long  distance  away.  Two 
pairs  of  receivers  could  be  used,  thus  securing  cor- 
roborative evidence.  The  transmitter  was  so  con- 
structed that  it  caught  and  transmitted  sounds  that 
were  scarcely  distinguishable  to  the  human  ear; 
whispers  and  undertones  that  could  not  be  heard 
under  normal  conditions  a  few  feet  away  were  readily 
picked  up  and  transmitted  by  this  instrument  to 
listeners  stationed  a  considerable  distance  off.  The  re- 
ceivers reproduced  the  natural  tones  used  by  the  per- 
sons at  the  transmitting  end  of  the  line,  and  they  could 
be  so  tuned  that  the  voice  was  magnified  many  times. 
After  considerable  difficulty  Kayton  had  succeeded 
in  concealing  the  transmitter  in  the  Kreisler  attic 
when  there  was  no  possible  danger  of  its  being  dis- 
covered, and  the  wire  he  had  carried  into  the  adjoin- 
ing house,  the  entire  top  floor  of  which  he  had  rented 
for  the  purpose.  There  his  operatives,  seated  night 
and  day  at  the  receivers,  heard  every  word  the 
counterfeiters  said,  and  secured  the  evidence  on  which 
Kayton  obtained  the  warrant  for  his  raid.  Keeping 
themselves  well  hidden,  he  and  his  men  had  for  days 
watched  the  coming  and  going  of  the  gang.  With 
the  faces  of  several  of  them  Kayton  was  already 
familiar.  Post-graduates  in  crime,  the  pictures  of 

1 80 


THE      DETECTAPHONE      INSTALLED 


IN      THE     COUNTERFEITERS'     DEN 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

most  of  them  were  in  the  rogues'  gallery.  There  was 
Simeon  Gage,  alias  One-Lunged  Simmie,  morphine 
fiend  and  pickpocket,  a  lanky,  cadaverous,  flashily 
dressed  individual  so  nicknamed  because  he  was  in 
-the  last  stages  of  consumption.  He  also  recognized 
Bill  Skidd,  known  as  Ugly  Bill,  a  burly,  pugnacious 
tough  who  had  often  done  time.  Kreisler,  the  leader 
of  the  gang,  he  had  never  seen  before,  but  directly  he 
caught  sight  of  that  square,  determined  jaw,  that 
stern  face  and  intense  deep-set  eyes,  he  realized  that 
he  had  to  deal  with  as  desperate  a  customer  as  he 
had  ever  encountered. 

But  Kayton  was  not  afraid.  He  had  never  known 
what  the  word  fear  meant.  On  the  contrary,  it 
stimulated  him  to  feel  that  at  last  he  was  about  to 
meet  a  foe  worthy  of  his  steel.  The  stronger  the 
forces  he  was  fighting,  the  more  satisfaction  there  was 
in  worsting  them.  He  had  only  one  regret,  which 
was  that  he  had  been  obliged  to  expose  Miss  Masuret 
to  the  anger  and  vengeance  of  the  gang.  If  they 
suspected  for  a  moment  that  she  made  daily  reports 
of  what  was  going  on,  her  life  would  not  be  worth  a 
moment's  purchase.  He  had  thrown  about  her 
every  protection  possible.  At  all  times  she  was 
close  to  the  detectaphone  transmitter.  A  whisper 
from  her  that  matters  were  becoming  critical,  and 
he  and  his  men  would  at  once  break  into  the  place 
and  rescue  her.  He  realized,  however,  that  it  was 
not  as  easy  as  it  sounded.  It  would  take  time  to 
break  in,  and  much  could  happen  in  a  very  few  mo- 
ments. He  could  only  trust  that  everything  would 
go  as  he  wanted  it  to,  and  that  they  would  be  able 
to  take  the  gang  by  complete  surprise. 

181 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

Yet  it  worried  him  to  feel  that  the  young  girl  was 
exposed  to  danger,  and  what  astonished  and  worried 
him  even  more  was  to  find  that  he  cared.  He  had 
been  so  long  a  bachelor  that  it  never  occurred  to  him 
that  he  was  capable  of  taking  more  than  a  passing 
interest  in  any  woman.  A  man  in  his  business, 
fighting  desperate  characters  with  his  back  to  the  wall, 
had  little  time  for  the  milder,  sweeter  interests  of  life. 
The  terms  "love,"  "wife,"  "home"  were  to  him  only 
empty  phrases.  A  soldier,  fighting  society's  battle 
with  the  forces  of  evil,  he  had  never  stopped  to  think 
there  was  a  quieter,  more  peaceful  kind  of  existence 
that  might  appeal  to  him  more.  This  girl,  with  her 
quiet,  refined  manner,  her  patience  and  gentleness 
under  all  kinds  of  provocation,  had  from  the  outset 
gained  his  sympathy.  Then,  as  each  day  he  learned 
to  know  her  better,  he  recognized  what  an  excep- 
tional nature  hers  was.  During  the  day  he  found 
himself  thinking  of  her  when  he  should  have  been 
thinking  only  of  his  work.  Strange  unusual  thoughts 
surged  madly  through  his  brain.  Why  should  not 
he  too  marry  and  be  settled  and  happy  like  other 
men?  It  was  just  such  a  girl  as  this  that  he  would 
like  for  his  wife. 

The  trying  task  of  keeping  a  constant  vigil  and 
listening  in  silence  to  every  word  uttered  next  door 
Kayton  had  intrusted  to  six  of  his  best  operatives, 
and  they  were  on  duty  night  and  day,  three  men 
working  in  the  daytime,  the  others  at  night.  They 
sat  there  in  grim  silence,  the  metal  receivers  glued 
to  their  heads  and  connected  with  the  house  next 
door  by  wires  running  out  of  the  window. 

It  was  a  tedious  task,  watching  and  listening,  and 

182 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

the  kind  of  work  that  got  on  the  nerves.  Joe  urged 
an  immediate  raid,  but  Kayton's  prudence  and  longer 
experience  prompted  him  to  wait.  The  moment  had 
not  yet  come. 

One  day  their  watching  was  rewarded  beyond  all 
expectation.  Kayton  was  at  the  receiver  of  the 
detectaphone,  listening  to  scraps  of  conversation, 
when  suddenly  some  one  laughed.  Instantly  the 
detective  pricked  up  his  ears.  He  knew  only  one 
man  who  could  laugh  like  that — a  boisterous,  coarse 
laugh  which  reminded  one  of  a  horse  neighing. 
There  could  be  no  mistake.  It  was  Mr.  Hurley,  the 
dead  banker's  legal  adviser.  What  was  he  doing  in 
that  den  of  thieves?  The  suspicion  the  detective 
had  from  his  first  talk  with  the  man  returned  all  at 
once  with  redoubled  force.  If  Hurley  knew  these 
crooks  and  had  dealings  with  them,  it  was  more  than 
probable  that  he  knew  more  about  the  murder  than 
he  had  admitted.  Kayton  felt  a  thrill  run  down  his 
spine.  The  scent  was  getting  hotter  every  minute. 
He  began  to  feel  that  the  murderer  of  John  Argyle 
was  within  his  reach. 

He  strained  every  nerve  to  listen,  in  the  hope  that 
he  would  hear  something  that  would  confirm  his 
suspicions,  but  the  conversation  was  general  and 
punctuated  from  time  to  time  with  the  lawyer's 
laugh.  The  only  definite  thing  he  could  overhear 
was  that  they  were  all  to  meet  again  the  following 
evening.  That  was  enough  for  Kayton.  The  mo- 
ment for  the  raid  had  come. 

"It's  for  to-morrow  night,  Joe!"  he  whispered  to 
his  assistant.  "Get  your  men  ready." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  next  twenty-four  hours  found  the  watchers 
still  at  their  posts.  During  the  day  not  a  sound 
came  from  the  counterfeiters'  den.  Everything  was 
as  quiet  as  if  the  place  had  been  abandoned.  Either 
the  inmates  were  all  asleep  or  had  gone  out.  Not 
an  instant,  however,  did  the  operatives  relax  their 
vigilance.  They  knew  that  Kayton  and  Joe,  who 
had  crept  in  and  concealed  themselves  next  door  to 
make  sure  the  wire  connections  were  all  right,  would 
be  heard  from  directly  the  coast  was  clear.  Mean- 
time, their  ears  fastened  to  the  detectaphone  re- 
ceivers, they  listened  eagerly  for  the  slightest  sound. 

Final  preparations  had  been  made  to  raid  the 
place  at  nine  o'clock  that  evening,  when  it  was 
reasonably  certain  that  most  of  the  gang,  including 
Mr.  Hurley,  would  be  present.  Everything  had  been 
carefully  planned;  not  a  detail  overlooked.  In  addi- 
tion to  the  three  operatives  taking  down  on  the 
detectaphone  every  word  uttered  and  who  at  the 
critical  moment  would  take  a  hand  in  the  final  rush, 
Kayton  had  twelve  plain-clothes  men  down-stairs  in 
the  street  and  back  yard  and  half  a  dozen  more  on 
the  roof.  In  fact,  the  place  was  completely  sur- 
rounded by  armed,  determined  officers.  The  crooks 
had  not  the  slightest  chance  of  making  a  "get-away." 

Kayton  had  decided  to  remain  himself  on  the 

184 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

counterfeiters'  premises  throughout.  It  involved 
considerable  personal  risk  to  the  final  success  of  the 
raid,  but  he  had  never  stopped  to  consider  peril. 
His  presence  in  the  house  was  necessary  for  two 
reasons.  First,  in  order  to  direct  his  operatives,  he 
must  be  in  a  position  to  judge  of  the  exact  moment 
to  break  in  and  give  the  final  signal  to  his  men. 
Secondly,  he  must  be  there  to  protect  Mary  in  case 
of  trouble.  He  could  not  possibly  leave  the  girl 
there  alone  to  face  the  wrath  of  the  gang  when  they 
realized  that  they  had  been  betrayed. 

Every  day  he  realized  more  that  this  girl,  with  her 
quiet,  gentle  manner,  was  taking  a  firmer  hold  on  his 
affections.  Was  it  a  deeper  feeling  than  sympathy 
and  friendship  that  he  had  for  her?  When  a  man 
gets  to  the  age  of  forty  without  having  met  the 
woman  he  cares  enough  about  to  marry,  he  is  apt 
to  be  distrustful  of  his  feelings  when  the  right  girl 
does  come  along.  He  only  knew  that  he  could  not 
banish  her  from  his  thoughts,  and  that  he  felt  sin- 
gularly elated  and  happy  when  with  her,  and  just 
as  depressed  when  she  was  away.  Was  it  possible 
that  he,  the  cynical,  blase  man  of  the  world,  the 
hardened  old  bachelor,  was  falling  in  love  like  a 
timid  school-boy?  It  seemed  ridiculous,  almost  un- 
believable, but  there  it  was.  There  was  no  doubt 
about  it.  He  was  absurdly,  irrationally,  hopelessly 
in  love.  Did  she  care  for  him?  He  did  not  know, 
although  it  had  seemed  to  him  that  there  was  some- 
thing in  the  tone  of  her  voice,  in  the  glance  of  her 
eye  when  she  spoke  to  him,  quite  different  to  when 
she  was  addressing  others.  Well,  he  was  not  a  man 
to  beat  about  the  bush  or  to  break  his  heart  over  a 

13  I85 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

woman  who  did  not  care  for  him.  The  first  oppor- 
tunity he  got  he  would  find  out  just  how  he  stood 
in  her  estimation.  Meantime,  sterner  work  was 
before  him.  There  was  little  time  now  to  be  lost 
on  sentiment. 

Next  door  the  three  operatives  sat  motionless, 
waiting  for  some  sign,  listening  patiently  for  a  signal 
that  everything  was  all  right.  Nash  was  nodding 
in  his  chair,  while  Cortwright  puffed  leisurely  at  a 
cob  pipe.  Sinclair,  his  long  legs  up  on  the  table, 
sat  at  the  end  of  the  detectaphone  receiver,  also 
dozing. 

"I  wonder  why  the  boss  don't  call  us?  He  must 
be  next  door  all  this  time." 

Nash  looked  up. 

"Say,  Bob,  is  your  detectaphone  working?'* 

"Not  yet.     Is  yours?" 

"Not  a  sound.     But  don't  worry;  they'll  be  work- 
ing overtime  pretty  soon." 
.  Sinclair  made  a  quick  gesture  with  his  hand. 

"Hush,  boys!  I  hear  voices.  Some  one's  com- 
ing in." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

EVERYTHING  was  quiet  as  the  grave  in  the 
•Lrf  Kreisler  attic.  As  usual  at  this  time,  the 
place  had  been  deserted  all  day.  Only  in  the 
evening,  when  darkness  favored  their  movements 
being  unobserved,  did  the  members  of  the  gang 
emerge  from  their  rat-holes  and  come  to  see  their 
leader.  Mrs.  Martin  was  out  getting  food  and  beer 
for  the  evening  meal.  Kreisler  himself  had  not  ar- 
rived yet.  But  it  would  not  be  long  before  they 
came.  It  was  already  growing  dark.  There  was 
no  time  to  be  lost. 

The  clock  was  already  on  the  stroke  of  seven  when 
there  was  the  sound  of  a  key  being  cautiously  in- 
serted in  the  door.  The  next  instant  Joe  poked 
his  head  in.  Seeing  that  the  room  was  empty, 
he  made  a  gesture  behind  him,  and  Kayton  ap- 
peared, followed  closely  by  Mary.  Both  men  car- 
ried small  electric  flashlights  which  enabled  them 
to  see. 

Kayton  advanced  boldly  and  flashed  his  light  here 
and  there,  curious  to  inspect  further  this  nest  of 
criminals.  Turning  to  Mary,  he  whispered: 

"You're  sure  they  are  all  out?" 

She  nodded. 

"Yes.     I  saw  them  go." 

He  pointed  to  the  landing  and  whispered: 

187 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"Just  watch  the  stairs  for  us.  They  may  return 
any  minute." 

She  went  as  directed  and  stood  on  guard  at  the 
door  through  which  they  had  entered.  Quickly 
Kayton  turned  to  his  assistant. 

"Say,  Joe,  connect  that  detectaphone  out  of  the 
window.  Be  careful!"  Grimly  the  detective  went 
on:  "That  was  classy  work  of  yours,  my  boy — lift- 
ing Mrs.  Martin's  handbag  with  all  her  keys." 

Joe  grinned.  Moving  about  the  room,  flashing 
his  light  over  the  table  and  cupboards,  he  replied: 

"She  certainly  did  keep  her  hooks  on  it.  I  had 
so  much  trouble  getting  it,  I  hate  to  part  with  it." 

Kayton  smiled  approvingly. 

"Joe,  you're  getting  to  be  a  first-class  dip." 

Throwing  up  the  window,  the  young  man  nimbly 
climbed  out  onto  the  fire-escape.  Laughingly  he 
retorted : 

"Well,  Fm  a  better  pickpocket  than  Sam.  He 
chased  her  every  time  she  put  her  nose  out  of  this 
house  yesterday.  It  took  me  only  two  hours.  I 
didn't  have  to  give  up  my  cover  to  any  department- 
store  sleuth,  either." 

Opening  one  of  the  cupboards,  Kayton  threw  his 
flashlight  all  round. 

"I'd  like  to  search  this  rat-hole  thoroughly." 

"Guess  you've  got  time  enough,  gov'nor.  They 
won't  miss  the  bag  till  they're  through  dinner.  And 
they  may  hang  around  there,  trying  to  get  one  of 
the  waiters  pinched." 

"Not  much.  They  won't  want  to  have  any  more 
attention  paid  to  them  by  the  police  than  they  can 
avoid." 

188 


THE   ARGYLE   CASE 

Suddenly  Mary,  at  the  door,  made  a  slight  ex- 
clamation of  warning: 

"Hush!" 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Kay  ton,  in  a  tense  whisper 
and  ready  for  any  emergency. 

"It's  all  right,"  she  whispered.  "I  thought  I 
heard  some  one." 

The  detective  turned  again  to  his  assistant. 

"Joe,  you're  getting  to  be  a  great  plumber." 

The  young  man  chuckled.  As  he  tested  the  wires 
out  on  the  fire-escape,  he  said: 

"Well,  we're  going  to  get  great  results  with  this 
detectaphone;  this  one's  going  to  be  the  live  wire, 
all  right." 

"  Be  careful,  Joe.  Break  your  neck  if  you  want  to, 
but  don't  break  that  wire." 

"I  don't  want  to  break  either,  thank  you." 

After  making  sure  that  the  connections  were 
properly  made  outside,  the  young  man  attached  the 
wire  from  the  detectaphone  with  the  loose  end  from 
next  door.  When  the  job  was  completed  to  his 
satisfaction,  he  looked  up  and  said: 

"The  wire's  connected,  gov'nor." 

Kayton  turned  to  the  dead  wall  behind  which, 
in  the  next  house,  his  operatives  were  waiting.  In 
a  low,  perfectly  natural  tone  he  said: 

"Boys,  if  the  wires  are  working,  and  you  hear 
me  speaking,  wave  a  handkerchief  from  your 
window." 

Opening  the  window  at  the  back,  Joe  thrust  his 
head  out  to  look  for  the  expected  signal.  After  a 
moment's  wait  he  drew  in  his  head  and  cried, 
exultantly: 

189 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"All  right,  gov'nor;  they  get  it." 

Still  on  guard  at  the  door,  Mary  began  to  grow 
uneasy. 

"Don't  you  think  you  ought  to  come  now?"  she 
whispered,  anxiously. 

Kayton  held  his  hand  out  to  his  assistant. 

"Give  me  that  other  'phone,  Joe."  Then,  going 
toward  the  young  girl,  he  said:  "Miss  Masuret, 
here  is  the  detectaphone.  Conceal  it  in  your  room 
as  I  explained  to  you.  Drop  the  wire  out  of  the 
window,  and  my  men  will  connect  with  it." 

She  nodded. 

"I  understand." 

At  that  instant  a  whistle  was  heard  in  the  street 
below.  Quickly  Joe  turned  to  his  chief. 

"There's  our  signal,  gov'nor.  Kreisler  and  his 
gang  are  coming." 

Kayton  made  a  quick  gesture. 

"You  go  back  to  the  other  house  by  the  roof  and 
get  on  the  detectaphone.  Don't  leave  the  receiver 
— you  stick  to  it  until  you  hear  from  me — and  then 
obey  it  instantly." 

"All  right,  gov'nor,  I'll  stick." 

Mary  turned  to  the  detective  in  surprise. 

"Aren't  you  going  with  him?" 

"No,"  he  answered,  quickly;  "I'm  going  to  stay 
here  with  you." 

"Oh,  don't!    They'll  kill  you!" 

"I've  heard   that  before,"   he  smiled,   grimly. 

On  top  of  the  transom  over  the  door  the  electric 
buzzer  flashed  and  spit  ominously.  Not  an  instant 
was  to  be  lost.  Another  moment  and  they  would 
be  discovered. 

190 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"What's  that?"  demanded  Mary,  alarmed  at  the 
noise  made  by  the  buzzer. 

"That's  their  warning.  They've  got  the  front 
steps  wired.  There's  some  one  at  the  street  door 
now,"  quickly  explained  the  detective,  as  he  ran 
toward  the  door. 

"What  shall  we  do?"  she  asked,  her  large  eyes 
opening  wide  with  terror. 

"We'll  go  right  back  to  your  room,"  he  said, 
quickly. 

"But  they'll  see  us!" 

"No — we've  just  time  to  get  there." 

Hurriedly  they  left  the  room,  closing  the  door 
noiselessly  behind  them. 

Next  door  the  waiting  operatives  listened,  but 
all  was  quiet  again  in  the  Kreisler  flat.  Nash 
thought  that  Kayton  must  have  left.  Suddenly 
there  was  a  noise  on  the  roof  above  their  heads,  as 
if  a  heavy  body  had  dropped. 

"What's  that?"  exclaimed  Sinclair,  nervously. 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Nash.  "It's  Joe.  Kayton 
told  him  to  go  over  the  roof." 

At  that  moment  the  assistant  pulled  up  the  hatch 
and  appeared  at  the  top  of  the  ladder. 

"Greetings,  men!" 

The  operatives  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh. 

"Greetings,  greetings!" 

Coming  quickly  down  the  ladder,  the  young  man 
laughed  good-naturedly. 

"You  boys  have  got  the  soft  end  of  it.  I'm  get- 
ting too  fat  for  this  tin-roof  work."  Taking  off  his 
hat  and  coat,  he  added:  "What  do  you  think  of  a 

191 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

first-class  detective  doing  second-story  work  in  a 
third-class  tenement?  Here,  Nash,  give  me  that 
receiver." 

"The  damn  thing's  glued  to  my  ear,"  growled 
Nash,  trying  to  detach  it. 

He  yanked  the  steel  apparatus  off  and  handed 
it  to  the  new-comer,  who,  by  Kayton's  order,  was 
in  general  charge. 

Surrendering  his  place  to  Joe,  the  latter  sat  down 
and  adjusted  the  receiver  to  his  head.  In  a  tense 
whisper  he  said: 

"Now,  boys,  you  want  to  sit  tight.  We  may  be 
in  for  some  rough  work." 

As  he  spoke  there  was  the  sound  of  a  door  shutting 
next  door.  Joe  held  up  a  warning  hand. 

"Hush!  They're  here!  Now  they'll  start  to 
chatter,  and  when  they  do  we've  got  'em." 

There  followed  a  dead  silence,  broken  only  by  the 
scratching  pencils  as  the  listening  men  started  to 
write  rapidly  on  their  pads. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

"L^REISLER  entered  the  attic,  followed  by  a  lanky, 
Av.  cadaverous-looking  individual  with  an  anemic, 
crafty-looking  face.  Dressed  in  the  height  of  fashion 
affected  by  the  flashy  gentry  of  the  underworld,  he 
had  on  a  tight-fitting  check  suit,  low  shoes,  red 
socks  and  tie,  and  a  rakish,  flat-brimmed  derby  hat 
jauntily  on  the  back  of  his  head.  A  gold  fob  dangled 
from  his  waistcoat,  and  on  his  fingers  were  a  couple 
of  showy  rings.  A  crafty,  furtive  expression  on  his 
face,  Simeon  Gage  looked  just  what  he  was — one 
of  the  slickest  pickpockets  in  the  country.  Addicted 
to  morphine,  his  complexion  was  yellow  and  un- 
wholesome, and  from  his  lips  hung  the  inevitable 
cigarette.  Usually  Simeon  was  in  good  humor,  being 
the  pampered  baby  of  the  gang;  but  to-day  some- 
thing had  occurred  to  upset  him.  While  Kreisler 
went  forward  to  turn  up  the  lamp,  he  grumbled: 

"Say,  Fred,  we'll  have  to  get  all  these  locks 
changed,  now  Mrs.  Martin's  lost  her  bag.  We 
might  as  well  go  to  bed  with  the  front  door  open." 

The  counterfeiter  shrugged  his  shoulders.  In- 
differently he  answered: 

"There  was  nothing  in  the  bag  to  show  what 
house  the  keys  fit." 

Going  over  to  the  corner,  the  pickpocket  threw 
himself  on  the  sofa.  Drolly  he  said: 

193 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"Yes,  I  know,  Doctor,  but  I'm  not  for  taking 
any  chances.  The  dip  that  got  her  keys  might  see 
you  coming  out  of  here  sometime,  or  he  might  see 
her  in  the  street  and  follow  her  home.  This  isn't 
the  sort  of  place  we'd  like  to  entertain  a  sneak-thief 
in — is  it?  He'd  blackmail  us  for  life!" 

Kreisler  laughed. 

"You've  got  too  much  imagination  for  this  busi- 
ness, Simmie.  You  ought  to  go  back  to  your  old 
confidence  game." 

Opening  the  closet,  he  took  off  his  coat,  hung  it 
up,  and  slipped  on  a  loose  house-coat. 

The  pickpocket,  still  unsatisfied,  sat  bolt  upright. 

"Well,  to  tell  ye  the  truth,  I've  been  uneasy  lately 
— ever  since  that  girl  came,  in  fact.  Do  ye  know,  I 
thought  I  was  being  shadowed  yesterday- 
He  stopped  and  looked  admiringly  down  at  his 
rings. 

Kreisler  smiled. 

"You're  always  thinking  you're  being  followed. 
You  must  have  a  bad  conscience." 

Removing  the  cloth  from  the  table,  the  counter- 
feiter folded  it  carefully  and  placed  it  on  a  chair 
close  by. 

The  pickpocket  nodded.     Dolefully  he  replied: 

"I  think  p'haps  I  am  hittin'  too  many  cigarettes. 
I  don't  know  what's  wrong.  Something  certainly 
must  be  the  matter  if  people  can  come  and  pick  our 
pockets  like  that." 

Rising  from  the  sofa,  he  went  over  to  the  cupboard 
and  stood  near  Kreisler.  Still  grumbling,  he  went  on : 

"Anyhow,  I  don't  think  we  ought  to  have  that 
girl  here.  Some  cheap  divorce-case  detective  will  be 

194 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

rounding  us  up  next.  Who  is  she,  anyway  ?  I  called 
up  Hurley  and  asked  him  about  her.  Why  doesn't 
he  know  about  her?" 

Returning  to  the  closet,  Kreisler  took  out  a  pan 
and  tools,  which  he  carried  to  the  table.  Then  going 
to  a  cupboard,  he  unlocked  it  and,  taking  out  a  bottle, 
poured  some  liquid  into  a  measuring-glass.  He 
listened  in  silence  to  his  companion.  After  a  pause 
he  replied  slowly: 

"There  was  no  time  to  tell  him." 

Gage  pulled  a  grimace. 

"You've  had  lots  of  chances  to  tell  me" 

Kreisler  looked  the  youth  full  in  the  face.  Calmly 
he  said: 

"It's  none  of  your  damned  business,  Simmie." 

The  pickpocket  took  the  snub  as  gracefully  as  he 
could.  Peevishly  he  said: 

"Well,  I  feel  nervous  as  a  rabbit  with  that  strange 
woman  around." 

Sitting  down  at  the  table,  Kreisler  picked  up 
what  looked  like  a  brand-new  ten-dollar  bill  and  a 
pair  of  rubber  gloves.  Watching  curiously  his  com- 
panion's preparations,  Gage  inquired: 

"Are  you  going  to  work  now?" 

"Yes." 

The  crook  made  a  step  forward.  Eagerly  he 
said: 

"Can  I  help  you?" 

"I  think  not,"  replied  Kreisler,  dryly.  "I  think 
I  have  everything  I  need.  I'm  just  going  to  do  a 
little  bleaching." 

Going  again  to  the  closet,  the  counterfeiter  brought 
out  a  measuring-glass,  two  small  bottles,  and  a 

195 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

package  of  bogus  banknotes,  all  of  which  he  carried 
to  the  table. 

The  pickpocket  stood  watching  him  in  silence  for 
a  moment.  Then  sullenly  he  said : 

"Bleaching — you're  always  bleaching.  Doctor,  it 
peeves  me — it  near  drives  me  dippy  to  see  you  wash- 
ing the  real  money  out  of  a  perfectly  good  one-dollar 
bill." 

He  picked  up  one  of  the  bills  and  fingered  it,  after 
which  he  replaced  it  on  the  table. 

While  Kreisler  arranged  a  frame  on  the  table  for 
drying  the  bills,  he  went  on  peevishly: 

"Your  photographic  process  may  be  all  right, 
but,  damn  it,  wouldn't  it  be  a  whole  lot  cheaper  if 
you'd  fake  the  paper?" 

Kreisler  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  made  no  reply. 
Going  again  to  the  closet,  he  brought  out  a  money- 
box and,  drawing  up  a  chair  near  the  table,  placed 
the  box  on  it  and  unlocked  it.  After  a  pause  he 
said: 

"That  is  the  way  with  you  Americans.  No 
patience,  no  science,  no — artistry — half  baked — 
get  rich  quick!  Perfection  is  an  affair  of  little  things, 
but  perfection  is  not  a  little  thing." 

Sitting  at  the  table,  he  proceeded  to  draw  on  the 
right-hand  rubber  glove,  while  the  pickpocket,  over- 
awed by  the  leader's  superior  manners  and  way  of 
expressing  himself,  watched  him  admiringly.  Finally, 
unable  to  contain  his  admiration,  he  burst  out: 

"Doctor,  you've  got  a  wonderful  bunch  of  stuff 
in  your  nut.  But  I  notice  you're  keepin'  all  you 
know  right  under  your  own  hat.  You  don't  do 
nothing  but  bleach  when  we're  round.  Some  day 

196 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

you'll  go  off  to  Scotland  with  your  money,  like  Andy 
Carnegie,  and  leave  us  all  workin'  in  the  mills." 

Kreisler  made  no  answer,  but  went  on  working  in 
silence.  Presently  he  gave  vent  to  an  impatient 
exclamation. 

"  Damn  these  rubber  gloves !  I  would  like  to  be  in 
the  rubber  trust.  They  put  out  a  cheaper  counter- 
feit than  I  would  dare.  Get  me  another  pair  from 
my  room." 

He  threw  the  torn  glove  on  the  floor  and  proceeded 
to  hang  the  wet  bills  on  the  frame. 

Gage,  stooping,  picked  up  the  glove.  Soothingly 
he  said: 

"Never  mind,  Doctor.  You're  all  right  with  your 
color  photography,  but  I  get  tired  sittin'  round  here 
waitin'  for  you  to  pull  off  your  masterpieces.  When 
are  we  goin'  to  start  to  shove  'em?  I  want  to  begin 
buyin'  bonds  in  Wall  Street." 

Kreisler  laughed.  Drawing  the  rubber  glove  on 
his  right  hand,  he  replied: 

"Be  patient,  Simmie,  be  patient.  You  shall,  and 
we  shall  be  paying  for  counterfeit  with  counterfeit! 
Counterfeit  stock  certificates  for  counterfeit  gold 
certificates !  There  is  nothing  in  the  Treasury  to  back 
their  stock  certificates,  and  the  government  protects 
them  and  prosecutes  us." 

The  pickpocket  snickered. 

"Doctor,  that's  the  difference  between  promotin' 
and  coimterfeitin'."  Rising  from  his  seat,  he  added : 
"Well,  I  must  be  getting  on  the  job.  It's  theater- 
hour  in  the  street-cars.  Bunch  of  swell  guys  all  wear- 
ing glad  rags  and  sparklers.  I  ought  to  be  able  to  get 
some  of  'em.  Ta-ta!  See  you  again,  old  sport." 

197 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

Kreisler  smiled  grimly. 

"Mind  you  don't  get  pinched." 

Gage  went  toward  the  stairs.  As  he  reached 
the  door  it  opened,  and  Mrs.  Martin  entered  carry- 
ing a  number  of  paper  bundles.  Taking  off  his 
hat  with  a  flourish,  the  pickpocket  made  a  mock 
bow. 

"Hello,  mama!  Been  out  getting  us  something 
good  to  eat,  eh?  Well,  I'll  be  back  to  help  you 
enjoy  it.  Count  me  in — count  me  in!" 

Before  she  could  answer  him,  he  closed  the  door 
and  ran  down-stairs. 

Mrs.  Martin  laughed  and  turned  to  Kreisler,  who 
looked  up  and  smiled.  Checking  her  merriment,  she 
laid  down  her  bundles  with  a  sigh,  and,  taking  off  her 
hat,  proceeded  to  get  ready  for  the  evening  meal. 
Beyond  a  brief  greeting,  the  counterfeiter  did  not 
interrupt  his  work.  With  his  gloved  right  hand  he 
poured  the  contents  of  two  small  bottles  into  the  pan 
and  carefully  stirred  with  a  glass  rod.  When  the 
mixture  was  to  his  satisfaction,  he  took  up  one  of  the 
freshly  printed  ten-dollar  banknotes  and  immersed 
it  in  the  bath. 

Mrs.  Martin  watched  him  for  a  few  moments  in 
silence.  Then,  approaching  the  table,  she  put  her 
arm  round  her  husband's  neck  and  lovingly  rubbed 
her  cheek  against  his. 

"Always  working — always  working,  aren't  you, 
dear?" 

Stopping  for  a  moment,  he  tenderly  patted  her 
cheek  with  his  left  hand  as  he  answered : 

"We  must  work,  dear,  if  we  are  to  continue  to 
live.  What  is  life  without  work?  A  frightful,  intol- 

198 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

erable  monotony.  Besides,  I  am  late  with  these  bills. 
We  must  make  haste  to  finish  the  job  and  get  away 
before  the  police  find  us." 

She  drew  back  and  looked  at  him  anxiously. 

"Oh,  Friederick,  do  you  think  there  is  any  danger 
of  our  being  discovered  ?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"There  is  always  that  danger,  careful  as  we  may 
be.  How  do  we  know  that  the  house  is  not  watched  ? 
I  noticed  a  stranger  loitering  about  the  street  as  I 
came  in." 

Mrs.  Martin  clasped  her  hands  in  distress.  Im- 
ploringly she  cried : 

"Then  come,  Friederick!  Don't  let  us  wait  till 
it's  too  late.  If  you  think  we're  watched,  let  us  get 
away  while  we  can." 

He  shook  his  head.     Doggedly  he  replied: 

"I  won't  go  till  my  work  is  done." 

"  But  they  may  get  you." 

"No,  they  won't.  They  may  get  my  body,  but 
not  me." 

"You'd  kill  yourself?" 

"Yes,  I'd  kill  myself." 

She  threw  her  arms  desperately  around  his  neck. 
Imploringly  she  cried: 

"But  think  of  me,  Friederick!  Think  of  me!  What 
would  I  do  if  you  were  gone  ? " 

He  turned  and  patted  her  affectionately  on  the 
cheek. 

"Don't  worry,  dear.  They  haven't  got  Fred 
Kreisler  yet.  I'll  give  a  good  account  of  myself,  I 
promise  you." 

Reassured,  she  smiled  again.     Lightly  she  said: 
199 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

"  Perhaps  we  exaggerate  the  danger.  How  should 
they  find  us  out  here?" 

He  shook  his  head. 

"They  can  find  a  needle  in  the  dark.  It's  their 
business.  You  never  know  when  you  give  them  a 
clue.  I  don't  think  it  was  wise  to  bring  that  girl 
here.  I  know  I  gave  my  consent,  but  it  was  a 
mistake." 

"I  couldn't  help  it,"  she  replied,  hurriedly.  "It 
would  have  aroused  Kayton's  suspicion  if  I  had 
refused.  He  would  have  at  once  suspected  some- 
thing was  wrong  and  come  here  to  investigate. 
Then  the  jig  would  have  been  up." 

Kreisler  nodded. 

"You  are  right,  dear.  There  was  no  way  out 
of  it." 

As  he  spoke  the  electric  buzzer  spluttered  and 
crackled.  Some  one  had  opened  the  street-door  and 
was  coming  up-stairs.  Quickly  Kreisler  jumped  up. 

"That  must  be  Skidd!"  he  exclaimed. 

Going  to  the  top  of  the  stairs,  he  peered  over  a 
moment,  while  she  watched  him  anxiously.  After  a 
few  moments  he  returned  into  the  room  and  said: 

"No,  it's  Hurley." 

Mrs.  Martin  made  a  gesture  of  disapproval. 

"Hurley?  He  ought  to  know  better  than  this. 
He  oughtn't — to  come  here  now." 

"It's  because  Gage  telephoned  him  about  that 
girl." 

"Oh  yes." 

Kreisler  laughed.     Cynically  he  said: 

"He  is  always  finding  fault  with  the  things  we  do, 
and  it  is  he  who  makes  the  mistakes." 

200 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

The  door  opened,  and  Mr.  Hurley  appeared.  The 
lawyer  was  immaculately  dressed,  in  frock-coat, 
gloves,  silk  hat,  and  gaiters,  all  of  which  looked 
strangely  out  of  place  amid  such  sordid  surroundings. 
Mrs.  Martin  advanced  to  meet  him.  Severely  she 
said: 

"You  are  wrong  to  come  here!" 

He  paid  no  attention  to  her.  Arrogant  and 
aggressive,  he  advanced  into  the  room  with  an  air 
of  authority.  Slamming  his  hat  and  cane  down  on 
the  table  and  throwing  his  coat  on  a  chair,  he  de- 
manded: 

"What's  all  this  I  hear  about  your  bringing  a 
strange  woman  here?" 

"That's  all  right,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Martin.  "You 
needn't  worry  about  that.  I  know  what  I'm  doing." 

The  lawyer  took  a  seat  near  the  table.  Insolently 
he  demanded: 

"What  are  you  doing?" 

Kreisler,  who  had  been  going  on  with  his  work  in 
silence,  now  looked  up.  Quietly  he  said: 

"Don't  be  so  rough.     She  can  explain  to  you." 

The  counterfeiter  rose,  put  the  bogus  banknotes 
in  the  money-box,  and  locked  it.  Still  seated  and 
aggressive,  Hurley  asked: 

"Who  is  it?" 

"Miss  Masuret." 

The  attorney  bounded  on  his  chair.  This  was 
even  worse  than  he  had  imagined. 

"What?     Here?" 

Mrs.  Martin  nodded. 

"Kayton  asked  me  to  take  charge  of  her." 

Their  visitor  stared  at  her  as  if  he  thought  she 

14  201 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

had  taken  leave  of  her  senses.     Throwing  up  his 
arms  in  indignant  astonishment,  he  cried: 

"My  God!    Are  you  crazy?" 

She  shook  her  head  as  she  replied,  quietly: 

"It  would  have  been  crazy  to  refuse." 

For  a  moment  the  attorney  was  too  much  over- 
come to  speak.  Finally  he  spluttered: 

"This  is  a  plant!" 

"Listen,"  she  began. 

But  he  refused  to  listen.  He  saw  only  the  danger 
to  them  all  by  this  girl's  presence  in  the  house.  No 
doubt  everything  that  had  occurred  had  already 
been  reported  to  Kay  ton.  Throwing  up  his  hands 
in  discouragement,  he  cried: 

"The  one  person  in  the  world  that  you  should 
have  kept  farthest  away  from!" 

Kreisler  looked  up.  With  some  impatience  he 
exclaimed : 

"Don't  talk  so  much,  Hurley!     Listen!     Listen!" 

Mrs.  Martin  drew  up  a  chair.  Bending  forward, 
she  said,  earnestly: 

"When  I  went  in  yesterday — about  the  legacy- 
he  was  planning  to  have  the  girl  disappear.  He 
wanted  to  protect  her  from  reporters.  And  besides, 
he  suspected  some  one  in  the  Argyle  house,  and  he 
wanted  to  throw  suspicion  on  her  and  put  them  off 
their  guard.  It  was  my  telling  him  I  had  furnished 
rooms  that  put  the  idea  in  his  head.  He  thought, 
of  course,  that  I  must  be  under  obligations  to  Mr. 
Argyle.  I  couldn't  refuse  to  take  her  without 
arousing  his  suspicions.  How  could  I?  What  ex- 
cuse could  I  give?  I  couldn't  tell  him  why  we  didn't 
want  her  here." 

202 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

Kreisler  had  risen,  and  in  deep  thought  paced 
slowly  up  and  down  the  room.  Turning  round,  he 
said: 

"It  would  have  been  better  to  let  that  legacy 
go!" 

Suddenly  Mr.  Hurley  bent  forward.  Something 
in  her  recital  had  tickled  his  sense  of  humor. 

"Hold  on!  Wait!  Wait  a  minute!  What  was 
that?  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  he's  using  us 
to  throw  the  real  criminals  off  their  guard  ?" 

"Yes.  Because  he  wanted  her  to  disappear. 
Don't  you  understand?  He  put  the  whole  plan 
right  in  my  hands.  He  was  puzzling  about  it  when 
I  came  in.  She  was  there,  and  he  was  trying  to 
make  some  arrangement." 

"Well,  by  God!" 

Springing  to  his  feet,  the  lawyer  burst  into  one  of 
his  fits  of  boisterous,  convulsive  laughter.  Ex- 
plosively he  exclaimed: 

"Never-Sleep  Kay  ton!  Isn't  he  wonderful,  this 
great  detective?  Never-Fail  Kayton!" 

Again  he  was  taken  with  a  fit  of  laughter,  until 
he  was  almost  blue  in  the  face. 

Kreisler  glanced  at  Mrs.  Martin  and  looked  anx- 
iously at  the  door  and  window.  Such  laughter  as 
that  might  be  heard  in  the  street  below  and  attract 
attention.  Approaching  the  lawyer,  he  said,  warn- 


"Hush,  man,  hush!" 

But  Mr.  Hurley,  once  started,  was  not  easy  to 
control.  To  him  the  notion  of  using  them  to  throw 
the  real  criminals  off  their  guard  was  inexpressibly 
droll,  and  could  only  have  originated  in  the  brain 

203 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

of  an   ass   like  Kayton.     Hilariously  he   burst  out 
again: 

"Oh,  it's  all  advertising!  He's  a  pinhead!" 
Going  back  to  the  table  and  pointing  to  the  things 
scattered  about  the  room,  he  added:  "If  he  knew 
the  tricks  of  some  of  this  double-jointed  furniture, 
eh,  Kreisler?" 

Again  the  counterfeiter  held  up  his  hand  warn- 
ingly. 

"Hush!    Not  so  loud!" 

More  calmly,  the  attorney  went  on: 

"Have  you  see  the  papers?  They're  full  of  her 
flight.  Everybody  is  sure  of  her  guilt  now." 

Mrs.  Martin  looked  up  anxiously. 

"  How  terrible !     Who  is  it  that  Kayton  suspects  ?" 

The  lawyer  smiled.     With  self-satisfaction  he  said : 

"How  could  you  guess?  A  man  with  a  mind  like 
that!  I  suppose  he  thinks  it's  Bruce — because  he 
hasn't  taken  him  into  his  confidence.  The  boy's 
distracted;  he's  got  the  whole  city  searching  for 
her." 

Mrs.  Martin  turned  to  Kreisler.  Anxiously  she 
said: 

"Friederick,  if   they  never   find   out    the  truth, 
they'll  never  clear  her.     And  if  they  do  find  out- 
Mr.    Hurley    interrupted    her    with    a    gesture. 
Scornfully  he  exclaimed: 

"Oh,  they'll  never  find  out!  Kayton  will  cook 
up  some  story  to  vindicate  the  girl  and  cover  his 
failure." 

Rising  from  his  seat,  he  went  toward  the  door. 
Turning,  he  asked: 

"Has  he  been  here?" 

204 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"Yes." 

Stopping  and  coming  back  to  the  table,  he  ex- 
claimed, testily: 

"You  should  have  told  me.  Suppose  I'd  met  him 
here." 

"I  never  dreamed  you'd  come,  and  how  could  I 
explain  all  this  over  a  telephone?" 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"That  his  plans  were  working  out  satisfactorily— 
and  he  thought  he'd  get  the  murderer — through  an 
old  servant  he'd  found." 

Again  the  lawyer  burst  into  a  noisy  fit  of  laughter. 

"Really!  Why,  /  put  that  notion  into  his 
head." 

Anxious  to  get  rid  of  their  unwelcome  visitor,  Mrs. 
Martin  looked  pointedly  at  the  clock. 

"Do  you  think  it  wise  for  you  to  come  here?" 
she  asked. 

Mr.  Hurley  picked  up  his  coat  and  hat.  Hastily 
he  answered: 

"No.  Most  assuredly  not,  and  I'm  going  right 
away."  As  Kreisler  went  to  unlock  the  door,  the 
lawyer  added,  with  mock  politeness: 

"Mrs.  Martin,  I  have  to  thank  you  for  a  most 
enjoyable  visit.  I'm  afraid  I  sha'n't  have  the  pleas- 
ure again  for  some  time.  Doctor,  if  I  were  you,  I 
would  interrupt  the  practice  of  my  profession  while 
Miss  Masuret  is  in  the  house.  If  Kayton  should  call 
and  get  on  the  wrong  floor  he  might  have  a  shock." 

Kreisler  looked  grave.    Quietly  he  said: 

"I  think,  Mr.  Hurley,  that  if  I  were  you  I  should 
leave  town." 

"Leave  town?    And  miss  these  consultations  with 
205 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

Kay  ton?    Oh  no;  I've  too  much  sense  of  humor  for 
that!" 

Again  he  laughed  hilariously.  Kreisler  held  up  a 
warning  hand  and  he  stopped  abruptly.  Turning 
quickly  on  his  heel,  he  stammered  a  hasty  good 
night,  and  disappeared. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

TOCKING  the  door  carefully  behind  the  lawyer, 
•*-i  Kreisler  came  back  to  where  Mrs.  Martin  was 
sitting.  Shaking  his  head  ominously,  he  said: 

"He  should  have  kept  away  from  that  detective. 
It  is  a  bad  thing  when  apprehension  makes  a  man 
too  bold.  He  should  not  sniff  around  traps." 

As  he  spoke  the  electric  buzzer  sounded.  Mrs. 
Martin,  startled,  half  jumped  up,  but  the  counter- 
feiter waved  her  back. 

"It's  only  Hurley  going  out,"  he  said,  calmly. 

He  sank  into  a  chair  and  sat  staring  moodily  into 
space,  while  his  companion  sat  and  watched  him  in 
silence.  At  last,  as  if  giving  expression  to  thoughts 
that  had  been  worrying  her,  she  exclaimed: 

"  Friederick,  what  have  I  done  to  Mary  ?  I've  tried 
to  keep  our  lives  as  far  apart  as  I  could,  but  it  seems 
as  if  the  devil  had  drawn  us  together  to  ruin  her." 

Kreisler  shook  his  head. 

"It  is  not  so.  It's  the  luck  of  the  game — just  a 
little  bad  luck.  It  will  pass." 

Again  the  buzzer  sounded  its  crackling  note  of 
warning.  Once  more  Mrs.  Martin  sprang  to  her 
feet,  Kreisler  following  more  leisurely.  Going  to  the 
door,  he  said: 

"That  must  be  Skidd."  He  has  been  gone  a  long 
time.  Something  must  have  detained  him." 

207 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

As  he  opened  the  door  an  angry  voice  was  heard 
on  the  staircase  saying: 

"I  know  what  I'm  talking  about." 

"Oh,  shut  up!"  retorted  the  voice  of  Simeon  Gage. 

Kreisler  looked  back  into  the  room  where  Mrs. 
Martin  was  waiting  apprehensively.  With  a  re- 
assuring nod  he  said: 

"Yes,  it  is  Skidd.     Gage  is  with  him." 

"I  tell  you  I  saw  him  on  the  corner,"  said  the  first 
voice  again. 

"I  tell  you  to  shut  up!"  retorted  Gage. 

Kreisler  smiled. 

"I'm  afraid  Skidd  has  been  drinking,"  he  said. 

He  came  back  into  the  room,  followed  by  a  burly, 
pugnacious  -  looking  individual  whose  watery  eyes 
and  ruddy  nose  suggested  a  more  than  passing 
acquaintance  with  the  whisky-bottle.  As  the  new- 
comer entered  he  turned  to  Gage,  who  followed  close 
at  his  heels,  and  spluttered: 

"I  tell  you  I  know  what  I'm  talking  about." 

The  pickpocket  entered  excitedly  and  ran  at  once 
to  the  window.  Breathlessly  he  exclaimed : 

"Shut  that  door!     This  house  is  watched!" 

Mrs.  Martin,  in  alarm,  rushed  instinctively  to 
Kreisler. 

"Friederick!"  she  exclaimed. 

The  counterfeiter  turned  a  shade  paler  as  he  put 
his  arm  protectingly  about  her.  Shaking  his  head 
disdainfully,  he  said: 

"Nonsense!     I  don't  believe  it." 

Sobered  to  some  extent  by  what  he  had  seen  in  the 
street  below,  but  still  too  much  intoxicated  for  dis- 
tinct utterance,  Skidd  broke  in,  angrily: 

208 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"Don't  you?  Do  you  believe  I'm  drunk?  Well, 
they  didn't  get  me  so  drunk  I  couldn't  keep  my  eye 
on  them." 

Mrs.  Martin  advanced  toward  them. 

"Who  is  it?  What  has  happened ?"  she  demanded. 

The  pickpocket  gave  his  tight  trousers  a  significant 
hitch. 

"Some  one's  on  to  us,"  he  leered. 

Calmed  sufficiently  to  get  his  breath,  Skidd  ex- 
plained what  had  aroused  his  suspicion. 

"A  wise  young  guy  tried  to  warm  up  to  me  in  a 
saloon,  and  I  couldn't  get  him  drunk — and,  believe 
me,  there's  something  doing  when  I  can't  get  a  man 
drunk.  He  was  pouring  his  into  the  spittoon.  When 
I  shook  him  off  I  hiked  around  here  and  got  a  look 
out.  They  keep  passing  the  house.  They  don't 
stop,  but  they're  the  same  ones,  and  there's  a  new 
newsboy  over  on  the  corner.  That's  damn  funny, 
now,  ain't  it?" 

Kreisler  listened  in  silence.  What  he  heard  must 
have  made  some  impression  on  him,  for  in  the  midst 
of  Skidd's  narrative  he  went  quickly  to  the  table 
and  began  to  remove  all  vestiges  of  incriminating 
evidence.  He  took  the  banknotes  from  the  drying- 
frame,  put  the  bottle,  pan,  glove,  and  measuring- 
glass  in  the  cupboard,  extinguished  the  lamp,  and 
replaced  the  tin  money-box  in  the  closet.  Going  to 
Mrs.  Martin,  he  took  from  her  the  photographic 
camera  and  put  it  also  in  the  closet,  which  he  lockec1, 

Skidd  staggered  to  his  feet  and  looked  at  his  com- 
panions as  if  asking  them  to  offer  some  explanation. 
But  no  one  spoke,  and  he  went  on : 

"What  I  want  to  know  is,  are  they  after  us,  or  are 
209 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

they  after  that  new  skirt  you've  got  in  here?  Who  is 
she  ?  What's  she  wanted  for  ?  What  are  we  running 
here,  anyway — a  white-slave  annex?" 

Mrs.  Martin  shook  her  head. 

"She's  all  right,  Skidd.  She's  not  wanted  for 
anything.  I  know  all  about  her." 

"Well,  what's  she  so  damned  mysterious  about 
herself  for?  What  do  you  keep  her  shut  up  in  that 
room  for?  I  may  be  drunk,  but  I  ain't  so  drunk  I 
can't  be  suspicious.  I  want  to  see  that  girl." 

"That's  impossible,"  said  Mrs.  Martin,  quietly. 

He  eyed  her  suspiciously. 

"Why  is  it  impossible?  There's  something  wrong 
around  here,  and  it's  all  happened  since  that  girl  came 
— your  pocket  picked,  me  pickled,  and  a  bunch  of 
plain-clothes  men  patrolling  the  block.  We  need  a 
quiet  life  for  this  business."  Tearfully  he  added: 
"I'd  like  to  look  her  over.  She  can't  fool  me. 
I've  got  a  light  burning  in  one  good  eye  that  ain't 
drunk." 

Gage  pointed  to  the  door.     Warningly  he  said: 

"Well,  Bill,  you'd  better  hit  the  hay.  You've  got 
a  ticket  for  a  long  dream." 

Skidd  grinned.  ^\ 

"Come  on  down,  Simmie,  and  tuck  me  in." 

As  Kreisler  unlocked  the  door  the  pickpocket 
shook  his  head. 

"I've  got  too  much  tuckin'  in  to  do  right  here, 
Bill.  You  go  along  now — get  sobered  up.  We  may 
need  you." 

The  fellow  started  toward  the  door.  When  he 
reached  it  he  turned  round,  and  in  a  maudlin  manner 
he  stammered: 

210 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"Good  night,  Mrs.  Martin.  I  apologize — I  simply 
'pologize." 

Throwing  the  door  open,  he  staggered  back  a  step 
or  two  and  then  lurched  forward  and  out. 

Kreisler,  with  an  exclamation  of  disgust,  closed  the 
door  and  went  back  to  the  table. 

"All  this  trouble  for  nothing,"  he  grumbled. 

Gage  shook  his  head  distrustfully.  Going  toward 
the  door,  he  said: 

"Well,  I  fly  this  coop  in  the  morning — early 
mornin'." 

Mrs.  Martin  turned  to  Kreisler.  Anxiously  she 
asked: 

"Is  everything  safe?" 

He  nodded. 

"Yes." 

Gage  grinned. 

"Nobody  could  find  that  stuff  but  the  rats." 

As  he  spoke  there  was  a  loud  knocking  at  the  door. 
Outside  Skidd's  voice  was  heard  saying: 

"Mrs.  Martin!  Mrs.  Martin!  Open  the  door- 
open  the  door!" 

Gage  ran  quickly  to  open  the  door  and  then  came 
back  into  the  room.  As  the  door  opened  Skidd 
rushed  irr,  his  face  scarlet,  his  eyes  protruding  with 
fear  and  rage.  Excitedly  he  cried: 

"There's  a  man — there's  a  man  down  there!" 

As  he  spoke  Kayton  entered  the  room,  followed 
by  Mary. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  detective  came  boldly  in,  making  a  great  fuss 
of  virtuous  indignation  and  concealing  only  with 
difficulty  the  satisfaction  he  felt  at  the  excellent  op- 
portunity which  Skidd's  drunken  familiarity  had  af- 
forded to  meet  the  crooks  at  close  range.  Mary, 
realizing  that  the  long-dreaded  crisis  was  now  at 
hand,  but  determined  to  help  to  the  extent  of  her 
power  the  man  who  had  rendered  her  such  signal 
and  unforgettable  service,  stood  in  the  background 
pale  and  trembling. 

Advancing  threateningly  on  the  retreating  and 
now  thoroughly  sobered  Skidd,  Kayton  thundered: 

"What  do  you  mean  by  trying  to  force  your  way 
into  this  young  lady's  room?"  Turning  to  Mrs. 
Martin,  he  added:  "Mrs.  Martin,  is  this  the  sort  of 
protection  she's  to  have  in  your  house?" 

For  all  reply  she  turned  to  the  offender  and  pointed 
to  the  door.  Sharply  she  said: 

"Mr.  Skidd,  go  to  your  room."  Then  address- 
ing Kayton,  she  added,  apologetically:  "He's  been 
drinking." 

Prodded  by  Gage,  the  bibulous  and  befuddled 
Skidd  went  protestingly  to  the  door,  still  unable 
to  understand  what  the  stranger  was  doing  there 
or  why  his  associates  seemed  to  be  disposed  to  take 
his  part. 

212 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"Who  is  he?"  he  whispered  to  the  pickpocket. 

"Go  to  your  room!"  repeated  Mrs.  Martin,  sternly. 

Again  Gage  tugged  at  his  sleeve. 

"Come  along,  Bill."        . 

"Well,  who  the  hell  is  he?"  repeated  Skidd,  more 
loudly. 

Kayton  stepped  forward  and,  addressing  Kreisler, 
who  stood  by,  a  silent  spectator  of  the  scene,  said 
more  amiably: 

"Of  course,  if  he's  been  drinking,  he  probably 
made  a  mistake  in  the  room.  I'm  sorry  if  we  dis- 
turbed you;  but  won't  you  see  that  Miss  Masuret 
is  not  further  annoyed?" 

The  counterfeiter  eyed  the  detective  narrowly, 
but  there  was  no  sign  of  fear  on  his  face.  A  little 
diplomacy  might  save  the  situation.  Skidd  was  a 
damned  fool.  What  did  he  want  to  kick  up  a 
rumpus  for?  If  they  appeared  decent,  perhaps  sus- 
picion would  be  disarmed  and  they  would  be  left 
alone.  Cordially  he  replied: 

"I  will  see  that  the  young  lady  is  not  molested 
in  future." 

"Thank  you." 

"Pardon  me,"  said  Kreisler,  politely,  as  he  passed 
in  front  of  the  detective  to  go  to  the  door. 

"Certainly,"  replied  Kayton,  in  the  same  tone, 
not  to  be  outdone  in  courtesy. 

Kreisler  went  out,  closing  the  door  behind  him. 
When  he  had  disappeared  Kayton  made  a  quick 
step  forward  to  where  Mrs.  Martin  was  standing, 
looking  furtively  yet  tenderly  at  Mary. 

"Mrs.  Martin,  can't  you  arrange  to  give  her  a 
room  near  your  own  ?" 

213 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

For  a  moment  she  looked  at  him  and  made  no 
reply.  Then  with  an  effort  she  said: 

"Mr.  Kayton,  I  think  it  would  be  much  better 
if  you  would  take  Miss .  Masuret  away.  You  can 
see  for  yourself  that  I  can't  protect  her  in  a  house  of 
this  sort.  I  can't  have  the  responsibility." 

Kayton  shrugged  his  shoulders.  With  studied 
carelessness  he  replied: 

"I  can't  take  her  away  now.  This  house  is  being 
watched." 

The  woman  started  violently. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  exclaimed. 

The  detective  hastened  to  explain. 

"It  has  evidently  leaked  out  that  she  is  here. 
They  may  be  reporters.  They  may  be  police  de- 
tectives. Young  Mr.  Argyle  has  the  whole  force 
searching  for  her.  I  can't  take  her  away  without 
showing  my  hand,  and  she  can't  go  alone.  Isn't 
there  a  back  way  so  you  could  escape  with  her  to 
a  hotel?" 

Mrs.  Martin  shook  her  head. 

"It's  impossible,"  she  murmured. 

Mary  now  stepped  forward. 

"Let  me  go  alone,"  she  said. 

"No— no!" 

Cautiously  Kayton  went  to  the  door  and  opened 
it  with  a  quick  jerk,  as  if  expecting  to  surprise  an 
eavesdropper.  Finding  no  one,  he  closed  it  again 
and  came  to  where  the  woman  stood.  Addressing 
Mrs.  Martin,  he  said,  firmly: 

"You've  got  to  go!" 

She  shook  her  head.     Firmly  she  said: 

"I  shall  not  leave  this  house." 
214 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

He  looked  at  her  in  silence  for  a  moment.  Evi- 
dently, nothing  he  could  say  or  do  would  influence 
this  woman.  She  had  a  stronger  character  than  he 
gave  her  credit  for.  There  was  no  use  beating  about 
the  bush  any  longer.  Dropping  the  mask,  he 
said  frankly: 

"Mrs.  Martin,  the  men  who  are  watching  this 
house  are  operatives  of  the  government's  Secret 
Service.  Some  one  living  here  has  been  uttering 
counterfeit  money." 

"My  God!"  she  cried,  instinctively  starting  for 
the  door. 

Quickly  stepping  forward,  he  intercepted  her. 

"Wait!  I  cannot  permit  you  to  speak  to  any  one 
in  this  house  or  do  anything  to  defeat  the  law  in 
this  matter." 

Stepping  back  and  trying  to  control  herself,  she 
asked: 

"Who  is  it?" 

"I'll  not  tell  you." 

"What  does  it  all  mean?" 

He  made  no  reply,  but  pointed  to  the  door. 

"I  advise  you  to  go  with  Miss  Masuret  now. 
Will  you?" 

"No." 

She  sat  down  on  a  chair,  an  expression  of  deter- 
mined resolution  on  her  face. 

"Very  well,  then." 

Involuntarily,  Mary  made  an  exclamation  of  dis- 
tress. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Kay  ton,  going  up  to  her. 

"Nothing!    Nothing!" 

The  detective  returned  to  where  Mrs.  Martin  was 
215 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

sitting.     Standing  before  her  with  folded  arms,  he 
said,  deliberately: 

"Mrs.  Martin,  my  men  are  watching  this  house. 
The  'Personal'  you  answered  was  a  plant."  His 
listener  started  up  in  terror  and  then  sank  back  with 
a  groan  as  he  went  on:  "There  was  no  such  legacy. 
I  discovered  that  you  and  your  husband  are  engaged 
with  others  in  a  gigantic  counterfeiting  scheme.  I 
cannot  promise  you  immunity  from  prosecution,  but 
if  you  will  do  what  is  right  by  assisting  the  law, 
that  fact  will  be  taken  into  consideration  by  the 
prosecuting  officers.  I  may  be  able  to  assist  you 
there;  but  in  return  you  must  do  something  for 
me." 

"What?"  she  asked,  almost  inarticulately. 

"Who  killed  John  Argyle?" 

Rising  to  her  feet,  she  staggered  to  the  door. 

"Why  do  you  ask  me?  I  don't  know!  I  don't 
know!" 

"You're  the  one  person  who  does  know!" 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  it." 

"You  do,  and  you  can  save  yourself  by  telling." 

She  halted,  her  face  deathly  pale,  and  supported 
herself  on  the  back  of  a  chair.  Tremulously  she  said  : 

"I  don't  care  for  myself!  I  don't  care  but  for 
one  thing  in  the  world!  What  are  you  going  to  do 
to  Dr.  Kreisler?  What  are  you  going  to  do  to  Dr. 
Kreisler?" 

Kayton  shook  his  head. 

"I  can't  do  anything  for  Dr.  Kreisler." 

She  gave  a  shriek  like  an  infuriated  tigress. 

"You  must!  You  shall!"  she  screamed,  at  the 
top  of  her  voice. 

216 


The  commotion  was  heard  outside,  for  Kreisler 
re-entered  the  room  hurriedly.  His  quick,  keen 
glance  flashed  inquiringly  over  the  group. 

"What's  this?  What's  the  matter?"  he  de- 
manded, sternly. 

Mrs.  Martin  rushed  over  to  him.  Regardless  of 
the  consequences,  her  first  instinct  was  to  give  the 
alarm  to  the  man  she  loved.  Breathlessly  she  cried: 

"This  man  is  Kay  ton!    He's  trapped  us!'* 

The  counterfeiter's  lips  tightened,  and,  drawing  a 
few  steps  back,  he  closed  the  door  and  locked  it. 
Calmly  he  replied: 

"Quietly,  my  dear,  quietly.  He,  too,  is  in  the  trap ! 
Now  what  is  it?" 

Kayton  stepped  forward.    Fearlessly  he  said: 

"Kreisler,  the  game's  up.  You  are  under  arrest! 
Your  wife  is  implicated  with  you  and  others  in  this 
counterfeiting.  I  have  offered  her  a  chance  to  save 
herself  if  she  will  tell  me  who  killed  John  Argyle." 

The  counterfeiter  shook  his  head. 

"She  knows  nothing  about  it." 

"She  knows  everything  about  it,"  retorted  the 
detective,  decidedly. 

Mrs.  Martin  laid  her  hand  on  her  husband's  arm. 
Despairingly  she  cried: 

"Friederick,  can't  you  do  something?" 

The  counterfeiter  fell  back,  and,  drawing  a  revolver, 
he  said,  grimly: 

"I  can  kill  him!" 

Before  he  could  pull  the  trigger,  Mrs.  Martin 
sprang  at  the  hand  holding  the  weapon. 

"No,  no,  don't!"  she  cried. 

While  Kreisler  hesitated,  Kayton  turned  quickly 

is  217 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

in  the  direction  of  the   detectaphone.     Loudly  he 
exclaimed : 

"I'm  trapped,  boys!     Come  and  get  me!" 

Mary,  in  an  agony  of  suspense,  not  knowing  what 
dreadful  tragedy  each  second  would  bring,  retreated 
to  the  end  of  the  room,  covering  her  face  with  her 
hands.  The  excitement  was  too  much  for  her  nerves. 
As  she  saw  Kayton  threatened  with  instant  death, 
she  gave  a  shriek  and  fainted,  falling  heavily  on  the 
sofa.  Seeing  her  fall,  Kayton  rushed  quickly  to  the 
window  and  threw  up  the  sash  to  let  in  some  air. 
Turning  to  Mrs.  Martin,  he  pointed  to  the  prostrate 
girl. 

"Your  daughter — she's  fainted!" 

The  woman  stared  at  him  in  astonishment. 

"What —  '  she  stammered.  "You  know — you 
know — she's  my  daughter!" 

Kneeling  at  the  couch,  Kayton  took  Mary's  hands 
in  his  and  patted  them;  then,  taking  a  brandy-flask 
from  his  pocket,  he  put  a  few  drops  on  her  mouth. 
Contemptuously  he  cried : 

"Do  you  think  I'd  have  sent  her  here  if  I  hadn't 
known  you  were  her  mother?  I  was  a  fool  ever  to 
have  let  her  come.  I  wouldn't  have  her  hurt  or  even 
frightened  for  all  the  damned  counterfeiters  in  the 
world!  She's  the  gentlest  thing  I  ever  met.  Good 
God,  haven't  you  any  feeling  for  her  at  all  ?  I  might 
have  known  I  couldn't  trust  her  to  a  woman  who 
left  her  when  she  was  a  baby  for  a  crook  like  Kreisler!" 

Mrs.  Martin  staggered  forward  and  gave  a  little 
exclamation  of  triumph.  Turning  to  Kreisler,  she 
cried : 

"Friederick,  we've  got  him!" 
218 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

The  counterfeiter  stared,  not  understanding. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

She  pointed  to  the  detective,  still  on  his  knees  at  the 
side  of  the  prostrate  girl. 

"He's  in  love  with  her!" 

Kayton  rose  to  his  feet. 

"And  if  I  am—?" 

Advancing  toward  him,  she  said,  defiantly: 

"Whatever  you  do  to  me,  you  do  to  her!  She's 
my  daughter,  and  I'll  claim  her." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  he  exclaimed : 

"You're  a  rotten  pair!" 

She  returned  to  the  attack. 

"I've  kept  out  of  her  life  until  now,  but  from  now 
on  she'll  get  what  I  get!" 

Incensed  beyond  his  customary  self-control,  Kay- 
ton  shook  his  fist  in  the  woman's  face.  Furiously  he 
cried : 

"You  can't  drag  her  down  so  low  that  I  won't  drag 
her  up  again.  She's  accused  of  this  murder,  and  the 
only  way  I  can  clear  her  is  by  showing  you  up." 

Infuriated,  Kreisler  once  more  drew  his  revolver 
and  covered  the  detective. 

"Damn  you!"  he  exclaimed,  his  finger  on  the 
trigger. 

Kayton  did  not  flinch.  Advancing  boldly,  al- 
though each  instant  might  lay  him  a  corpse  on  the 
floor,  he  said,  defiantly: 

"Go  on — shoot,  and  your  wife  goes  to  the  chair 
for  it!"  Overawed,  realizing  that  it  was  no  use 
adding  the  crime  of  murder  to  the  other  charges 
against  him,  Kreisler  lowered  his  pistol,  and  Kayton 
went  on:  "My  boys  will  kill  you  and  your  gang  here 

219 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

like  rats  in  a  trap !  This  house  is  surrounded !  There's 
a  detectaphone  at  that  window!  My  men  hear  every 
word  we  say!  I've  only  to  whisper  an  order  to  have 
it  obeyed.  The  moment  you  threatened  to  kill  me 
they  started  to  raid  the  house."  As  he  spoke  the 
electric  buzzer  sounded  violently.  Kayton  gave  a 
cry  of  triumph.  "There  they  are!  There!  There!" 

Outside  there  was  the  sound  of  crashing  glass  and 
wood,  followed  by  loud  voices.  The  raiding  party 
had  effected  an  entrance  and  were  already  on  the  way 
up-stairs  to  the  rescue.  Quickly,  Kreisler  rushed  to 
the  door  and  looked  out.  What  he  saw  convinced 
him  that  the  game  was  up.  Returning  quickly  into 
the  room,  he  put  his  revolver  to  his  head.  Mrs. 
Martin  with  a  terrible  cry  rushed  forward  to  stop 
him,  but  too  late. 

"It  has  cpme!"  he  cried,  in  despair. 

He  pulled  the  trigger.  There  was  a  loud  report, 
the  sound  of  a  body  falling  heavily;  and  when  the 
smoke  cleared  away  the  leader  of  the  counterfeiters 
was  seen  lying  on  the  floor,  blood  trickling  from  a 
small  wound  in  the  side  of  his  head.  With  a  despair- 
ing cry,  her  arms  outstretched,  Mrs.  Martin  threw 
herself  over  the  dead  body. 

"Friederick!     Friederick!" 

Kayton,  at  the  couch,  held  Mary  in  his  arms, 
reviving  her  with  brandy.  The  electric  buzzer 
crackled  and  spit  furiously.  The  voices  outside  came 
nearer.  All  at  once,  the  detectives,  headed  by  Joe, 
burst  in.  While  the  others  halted  to  stoop  over  the 
dead  counterfeiter,  the  assistant  rushed  over  to  his 
chief. 

"Did  we  get  here  in  time,  sir?" 

22Q 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

Kayton  smiled  grimly  as  he  pointed  to  Kreisler. 

"  He  has  saved  the  government  the  expense  of  a 
trial.  Now  all  we've  got  to  do  is  to  find  the  man  who 
killed  Argyle.  I  think  he's  not  far  off.  Call  a  cab, 
and  we'll  take  Miss  Masuret  home." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

NEW-YORKERS  love  nothing  so  well  as  a  sensa- 
tion. If,  while  partaking  of  their  coffee  and 
eggs,  their  favorite  newspaper  fails  to  furnish  a 
thrilling  story  of  something  that  has  broken  loose 
overnight,  they  feel  that  the  day  has  begun  badly 
and  that  life  is  humdrum  and  without  interest. 
When,  therefore,  on  the  morning  following  the 
Kreisler  raid,  the  papers  came  out  with  such  big  scare- 
heads  as  "Counterfeiters  Caught!"  "Kayton  and 
Secret  Service  Men  Seize  Millions  in  Spurious 
Money"  there  was  a  rush  for  special  editions  that 
nearly  swept  the  venders  off  their  feet. 

The  Kayton  offices  opened  earlier  than  usual  that 
day.  Leishman,  the  manager,  and  some  of  the 
others  got  down  -town  shortly  after  daybreak,  all 
eager  to  learn  the  latest  details  and  to  be  on  hand  if 
wanted.  Every  one  wore  a  smile,  and  there  was  an 
air  of  suppressed  excitement  all  through  the  place 
from  manager  down  to  the  office-boy.  Intensely 
loyal  to  their  chief,  proud  of  his  achievements,  each 
employee  felt  he  had  a  personal  share  in  the  added 
prestige  which  Kayton's  success  had  given  to  the  firm. 

It  was  only  7.30  and  barely  light.  Kayton  had 
not  yet  reached  the  office,  but  Leishman  and  Nash 
were  in  his  room,  busy  scanning  the  papers  and 
chuckling  as  they  read. 

222 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"Say,  this  is  immense!  Listen,"  exclaimed  the 
latter,  as  he  read  from  an  editorial.  '  '  In  capturing 
this  man  Kreisler,  whose  skill  has  for  years  been  a 
menace  to  every  financial  institution,  Mr.  Kayton  has 
rendered  to  the  government  a  signal  service  for  which  it 
should  show  itself  duly  grateful.' ' 

"Fine!  Fine!"  cried  Leishman.  "First  thing  you 
know,  the  Congress  will  pension  the  boss  for  life." 

"Some  class  to  this  office,  eh?"  grinned  Nash. 

' '  Currency  Fraud   of  the  Century  Frustrated! ' ' 
read  Leishman. 

"Great!  great!"  cried  Nash. 

At  that  moment  Cortwright  came  in,  also  holding 
out  a  newspaper.  Eagerly  pointing  to  it,  he  read 
aloud : 

"'Raid  by  Kayton.  Sixteen  Men  Taken  Pris- 
oners!' ' 

Leishman  threw  up  his  hands. 

"Hold  on — hold  on!     One  at  a  time,  please." 

"  Leader  of  the  Gang  Commits  Suicide!'  '  read 
out  Nash. 

Putting  the  paper  aside,  the  sleuth  crossed  over  to 
the  sofa  and  threw  himself  down.  Leishman  turned 
to  Cortwright: 

"Now,  what  have  you  got  in  your  paper?" 

The  detective  grinned  as  he  read  aloud : 

'"Raid  by  Kayton.  Sixteen  Men  Taken  Prisoners 
in  a  Counterfeiting  Raid.  Leader  of  the  Gang  Corn- 
mits  Suicide!" 

Leishman  rubbed  his  hands  with  satisfaction. 

"And  some  people  pretend  they  don't  care  what 
the  papers  say.  I  bet  the  boss  is  all  swelled  up  this 
morning." 

223 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"He  ought  to  be,"  grinned  Nash. 

Running  his  eye  rapidly  over  the  columns  devoted 
to  the  affair,  Leishman  asked: 

"Any  mention  of  Miss  Masuret?" 

"Not  a  word  so  far." 

"That's  bully!" 

Cortwright  held  up  a  page  containing  a  picture 
of  the  dead  counterfeiter. 

"This  picture  of  Kreisler  looks  like  a  personal 
thrust  at  you,  Nash." 

The  detective  grinned. 

"Oh!  You  think  every  handsome  man  looks 
like  me,"  he  said,  modestly. 

The  minutes  ticked  by.  It  was  getting  lighter 
every  minute.  Going  to  the  window,  Leishman 
threw  up  the  shades  and  turned  off  the  lights,  leaving 
only  one  on  the  chief's  desk. 

"Who's  this  young  squirt?"  demanded  Cort- 
wright, pointing  to  a  portrait  of  Simmie,  the  pick- 
pocket, in  one  of  the  newspapers. 

Nash  hastened  to  explain. 

"That's  Gage,  the  dip.  He  went  back  for  his 
rings  and  got  pinched." 

"Well,  he's  wearin'  bracelets  now,"  chuckled 
Cortwright. 

"I  wonder  how  much  phony  money  they  had 
tucked  away  in  that  trunk?" 

"They're  still  counting  it  down  at  the  federal 
office." 

Nash  rubbed  his  hands  with  glee. 

"Well,  the  governor's  busted  a  money  trust, 
all  right!" 

"Did  any  of  them  get  away?"  demanded  Leish- 
224 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

man,  sorry  now  that  he  had  not  been  there  to  see 
the  fun. 

"Yes;   one." 

"Oh,  that's  too  bad!" 

"But  the  coroner  got  him,"  said  Nash,  grimly. 

"Oh,  that's  great!" 

At  that  moment  quick  steps  were  heard  in  the 
outer  office.  The  next  instant  the  door  was  pushed 
open  and  Kayton  appeared.  The  men  greeted  the 
chief  with  a  cheer.  Leishman  went  up  and  shook 
hands. 

"Thanks,  boys!"  smiled  Kayton.  "Sam,  you 
and  Nash  had  better  get  your  breakfast." 

"How  about  you,  gov'nor?"  demanded  Cort- 
wright. 

"I'll  wait,"  smiled  Kayton. 

Nash,  drowsy  with  sleep,  made  his  way  toward 
the  door.  With  a  chuckle  he  said: 

"I'd  like  to  have  mine  served  in  bed." 

The  chief  grinned. 

"Nash,  you're  not  happy  unless  you  have  two 
nights  in  bed  every  week." 

When  the  two  men  had  gone,  Kayton  turned  to 
his  manager. 

"  Has  the  stenographer  got  the  rest  of  this  detecta- 
phone  report  out  yet?" 

"I'll  see,  sir." 

As  Leishman  went  out  to  inquire,  he  bumped  into 
Joe,  who  entered  jauntily,  eating  an  apple.  Kayton 
looked  up  and  gave  his  assistant  an  amiable  nod. 
He  could  not  forget  that  if  the  raid  had  been  success- 
ful he  owed  much  to  the  loyalty  and  intelligence  of 
his  lieutenant. 

225 


"Good  morning,  Joe." 

"Good  morning,  gov'nor."  With  a  significant  grin 
the  young  man  added,  quickly:  "Hurley's  all  right. 
He's  down  at  his  office." 

Kayton  looked  up  quickly. 

"Down  at  his  office  at  a  quarter  past  seven! 
What's  the  matter?" 

The  young  man  came  up  to  the  desk  and  stood 
there  eating  his  apple.  With  that  familiarity  born 
of  consciousness  of  duty  well  done  and  dangers 
shared  in  common,  he  grinned  and  said: 

"He  got  up  with  the  chickens." 

Kay  ton  grinned. 

"Nervous,  eh?  Say,  Joe,  when  you've  quite 
finished  your  breakfast,  I'd  like  to  have  a  report  of 
this  case." 

Noticing  the  sarcasm,  the  youth  quickly  apolo- 
gized. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  gov'nor." 

The  detective  smiled  good-humoredly.  Pointing 
to  the  apple,  he  said: 

"Joe,  one  of  those  got  a  man  into  an  awful  lot 
of  trouble  once." 

The  young  man  nodded. 

"Yes,  I  know,  gov'nor;  but  I'm  not  married." 

Kayton  laughed,  and  then,  his  thoughts  full  of 
the  case  on  hand,  he  hastened  to  change  the  con- 
versation. 

"Did  you  get  anything  on  Hurley?" 

The  assistant  laughed. 

"Oh,  gee!  He  got  up  all  right  and  ordered  a  big 
breakfast.  Then  he  saw  the  paper,  and  couldn't 
eat  a  bite.  He  hiked  back  to  his  room  and  packed 

226 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

his  little  bag.  Then  he  read  the  papers  again  and 
unpacked  it.  We  went  down  on  the  Subway  with 
him,  and  he  passed  his  station,  and  we  thought  he 
was  going  to  beat  it;  but  I  guess  he  was  so  worried 
he  forgot.  He's  waiting  in  his  office  now  with  his 
ear  to  the  ground." 

Kayton  rubbed  his  hands  with  satisfaction. 
Seizing  hold  of  the  telephone,  he  said : 

"Let's  start  a  little  rumble  for  him,  Joe."  Speak- 
ing into  the  transmitter,  he  said,  "Get  me  Hurley." 

As  he  looked  up,  while  waiting  for  the  connection, 
Leishman  entered  with  a  report. 

"Here  are  the  rest  of  the  detectaphone  notes,"  he 
said. 

He  went  out  again,  and  Kayton,  his  ear  still  glued 
to  the  'phone,  glanced  over  the  memoranda.  He 
grinned  at  something  he  read  and,  covering  the 
receiver  with  his  hand,  looked  up  and  said  with  a 
chuckle : 

"Say,  Joe,  Hurley's  got  me  sized  up  all  right. 
According  to  him,  I'm  a  pinhead!" 

The  assistant  grinned. 

"He  has  a  great  sense  of  humor,  gov'nor.  He 
laughed  so  hard  last  night  that  he  nearly  split  the 
detectaphone." 

At  that  instant  the  telephone-bell  rang.  Quickly 
the  detective  turned  to  the  transmitter. 

"Hello,  Mr.  Hurley!  I've  got  some  good  news 
for  you.  I  think  I've  obtained  a  clue  to  the  Argyle 
case.  Drop  in  and  see  me  this  morning,  can  you? 
Yes — I'd  like  to  consult  you.  Well,  it's  too  con- 
fidential for  the  'phone.  All  right,  thanks.  Good- 
by." 

227 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"Will  he  come?"  asked  Joe,  eagerly. 

Kay  ton  looked  up  and  laughed. 

"Would  you?" 

"Gee!    I  wouldn't  know  what  to  do!" 

"That's  what's  the  matter  with  Hurley.  Joe, 
go  to  the  hotel.  Get  Miss  Masuret,  and  without 
attracting  any  attention  bring  her  down  here." 

"All  right,  gov'nor." 

The    chief    looked    curiously    at    his    assistant. 
Kindly  he  said: 
,    "Have  you  had  any  sleep?" 

The  young  man  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Naw — I  don't  want  any." 

As  the  assistant  went  out  Leishman  entered,  hold- 
ing in  his  hand  a  stack  of  opened  telegrams.  Taking 
one  off  the  top,  he  held  it  out  to  his  superior. 

"This  is  important,  governor.  Our  office  wants 
you  in  Chicago  right  away  on  that  Frazer  case." 

But  Kayton,  interested  only  in  the  detectaphone 
report,  did  not  care  how  important  any  other  busi- 
ness might  be.  Carelessly  he  said: 

"They've  got  to  wait  a  minute.  Bring  me  that 
Nellie  Marsh  signature." 

"It's  in  the  desk  here,  sir." 

Going  to  the  desk  drawer,  he  took  out  a  sheet  of 
paper  and,  returning,  handed  it  to  his  employer. 
Taking  it,  Kayton  said: 

"Look  here!  I  want  you  to  type  in  above  the 
name — there,  you  see — as  if  it  were  the  final  page 
of  her  confession — the  usual  thing  before  a  notary 
public,  and  have  two  of  the  boys  sign  down  there, 
and  put  in  a  couple  of  wafers.  Make  it  'Page  12 
N.  M.  statement." 

228 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"Yes,  sir."  Then,  as  if  an  afterthought,  he  said: 
"Mr.  Colt  is  here." 

"Who?" 

"Mr.  Colt." 

Kayton's  first  instinct  was  to  put  away  the  box  of 
cigars.  He  had  not  forgotten  the  raid  which  the 
federal  inspector  had  made  on  them  on  the  occasion 
of  his  last  visit. 

"Oh,  send  him  right  in,"  he  said. 

Leishman  went  out,  closing  the  door,  and  Kayton 
picked  up  the  telephone  receiver.  Speaking  to  a 
clerk  in  the  outer  office,  he  asked: 

"Has  Joe  gone  yet?"  There  was  a  brief  pause, 
during  which  the  ubiquitous  assistant  was  being 
summoned  to  the  wire,  and  then  Kayton  said:  "Oh, 
Joe,  get  a  compartment  on  the  Twentieth  Century 
for  Chicago  to-day.  Two  tickets.  Yes,  pack  your 
bag.  No — it's  that  Frazer  case." 

As  he  hung  up  the  receiver  there  was  the  sound 
of  a  heavy  tread  in  the  passage  outside.  The  next 
instant  the  door  opened  and  Colt  appeared. 

The  federal  officer  advanced,  hand  outstretched, 
his  broad,  fat  face  wreathed  in  smiles.  This  latest 
feat  of  Kayton's  certainly  capped  the  climax.  It 
was  as  clever  a  bit  of  detective  work  as  the  Secret 
Service  had  ever  known.  Accepting  modestly  the 
congratulations,  Kayton  shook  hands. 

"What's  the  matter  now,  Billikens?"  he  smiled. 

"Well,  I  told  you  so." 

"You  talk  like  a  man's  wife.  Predicted  it,  eh? 
You're  in  the  wrong  department,  Colt.  You  ought 
to  be  with  the  Weather  Bureau." 

"How  the  devil  did  you  do  it?" 
229 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"Why,  I  had  a  witness  that  I  wanted  under 
cover,  so  I  put  her  in  a  lodging-house,  and  it 
turned  out  to  be  the  place  where  the  counterfeiters 
were." 

The  big  fellow  shrugged  his  shoulders  incredu- 
lously. 

"Oh,  pickles,  pickles,  Kay  ton!  I  believe  in  your 
luck,  but  I  don't  believe  even  you  could  draw  a 
straight  flush  to  one  card." 

The  chief  smiled. 

"Well,  I  may  have  stacked  a  little  for  it." 

"I'll  bet  you  did." 

"  Have  you  brought  Mrs.  Martin  ?" 

Colt  nodded. 

"What's  left  of  her.  Say,  there's  the  sort  of 
thing  that  stumps  me — a  swindling  old  crook  like 
Kreisler  can  mesmerize  a  woman  like  that!  Why, 
she's  a  queen!  She's  acting  now  as  if  she  hadn't 
a  thing  left  in  her  but  her  breath  because  that  old 
con  has  put  himself  out  of  trouble.  I  never  have 
any  luck  like  that.  I've  never  been  able  to  get  a 
woman  to  live  with  me,  let  alone  die  with  me. 
Say,  you  old  bloodhound,  where  are  the  plates?" 

Kayton  looked  up  quickly. 

"Whose— Kreisler's?" 

"Yes." 

"  Don't  think  he  used  any.  He  had  a  new  method." 

"Think  so?" 

"That's  my  theory." 

"What  was  it?" 

"Don't  know — yet." 

Colt  shook  his  head.  Somewhat  discouraged,  he 
said: 

230 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"If  that's  the  case,  the  government's  still  the 
goat.  That  whole  crowd  may  know  the  process." 

"No — my  idea  is  it  was  between  Kreisler  and  his 
wife." 

"Well,  son,  you'll  never  get  her  combination. 
She's  got  a  mouth  that's  burglar-proof." 

"Think  so,  Colt?" 

"Have  you  found  out  how  old  Argyle  was  such 
a  damned  fool  as  to  mix  up  with  these  people?" 

"That  stumped  me  for  a  long  time,  but  I  think 
I've  got  the  explanation." 

"What  is  it?" 

"Well,  I've  always  found  that  whenever  you  run 
into  an  abnormal  mystery  there's  always  an  abnormal 
cause  for  it.  In  this  case  it  was  probably — insanity." 

"Do  you  think  Argyle  was  bug?" 

"That's  the  line  I'm  working  on.  He  doesn't 
seem  to  have  shown  any  signs  of  it  except  in  his 
quarrels  with  his  son,  and  he  was  queer  about  his 
will." 

Turning  away  and  taking  up  the  telephone, 
Kay  ton  spoke  into  the  instrument: 

"Leishman,  send  in  Mrs.  Martin." 

Colt  got  up  and  moved  to  one  side,  pulling  him- 
self together  and  standing  with  a  smile  waiting  for 
the  counterfeiter's  wife  to  come  in.  Kayton  looked 
at  him  in  an  amused  kind  of  way.  Waving  him 
away,  he  said: 

"Good-by,  Colt;  good-by!" 

The  inspector  looked  at  him  in  surprise. 

"Good-by?"  he  echoed,  in  dismay. 

"Fade  away,  fade  away!"  said  Kayton,  waving 
him  to  be  gone. 

231 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

Reluctantly,  Colt  went  toward  the  door.  Turn- 
ing round,  he  grumbled : 

"I'd  like  to  bet  you  she  won't  squeal." 

"All  right;  go  home  and  break  open  the  baby's 
bank  and  bet." 

"Nix  on  that  baby's  bank!"  laughed  the  officer. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

"T^vRESSED  in  somber  black,  her  drawn,  pinched 
1— '  features  partly  concealed  by  a  veil  which  only 
served  to  intensify  her  extreme  pallor,  her  eyes 
swollen  from  constant  weeping,  Mrs.  Martin  ad- 
vanced slowly  into  the  room,  a  grim  figure  of  stalking 
tragedy. 

She  made  no  sign  of  recognition,  but,  going  up  to 
the  desk,  stood  there  motionless,  waiting  for  the 
detective  to  speak.  To  her  this  man,  who  had 
robbed  her  of  everything  she  held  dear  on  earth, 
represented  the  enemy.  There  was  murder  now  in 
her  heart  as,  with  sullen  hatred,  she  silently  watched 
him  through  her  tears.  What  did  he  want  more  with 
her?  Why  this  ceaseless  persecution?  Was  it  not 
enough  that  her  husband  was  dead  and  she  con- 
demned to  go  on  living  a  life  of  utter  loneliness  and 
despair?  How  she  hated  them  all — these  detectives 
who  took  professional  pride  in  hunting  down  their 
prey!  If  only  she  had  a  weapon  in  her  hand!  Quickly 
she  would  use  it,  reckless  of  the  consequences.  But 
what  could  she  do  alone  ?  Weakened,  unstrung  from 
long  fasting  and  a  sleepless  night,  she  staggered  to 
a  chair  for  support,  and  for  a  few  moments  nothing 
was  said.  They  merely  stared  steadily  at  each 
other,  each  well  aware  that  what  was  to  come  would 

16  233 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

be  a  duel  of  wits.     Finally,  unable  to  control  herself 
any  longer,  she  burst  out: 

"God,  I  wish  I'd  let  him  kill  you!" 

Kayton  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Carelessly  glanc- 
ing over  the  papers  on  his  desk,  he  replied,  calmly: 

"What  good  would  that  have  done?  If  I  hadn't 
caught  him,  some  one  else  would.  You  were  both 
playing  a  game  that  you  couldn't  win.  You  knew  it. 
You  said  so;  you  told  him  yourself  that  every  prison 
in  the  world  was  waiting  for  him." 

"He's  dead — he's  dead!"  she  sobbed,  sinking  into 
a  chair  near  the  desk. 

He  watched  her  in  silence,  his  heart  full  of  sympa- 
thy and  pity  for  this  woman  who  suffered  so  cruelly. 
Kindly  he  said: 

"There  was  nothing  else  for  him  to  do  but  kill 
himself.  Why,  he  killed  himself  when  he  went  into 
this.  The  government  would  never  have  let  him  out. 
He'd  have  been  buried  alive." 

Almost  beside  herself,  hardly  conscious  of  what  she 
was  doing,  she  made  wild,  extravagant  gestures  with 
her  arms.  Distractedly,  she  cried: 

"Oh,  let  me  alone — let  me  alone!" 

"I  would  if  I  could,"  he  replied.  "I've  had  to 
make  you  a  good  deal  of  trouble;  now  I'd  like  to  give 
you  a  little  help  if  I  can.  You  haven't  any  one  to 
advise  you,  have  you?" 

She  looked  up  at  him,  her  face  plainly  showing  her 
distrust.  Cautiously  she  said: 

"You  fooled  me  once — " 

"I'd  fool  you  again,  if  I  had  to — and  could.  But 
as  far  as  I'm  concerned  this  case  closed  with  the 
arrests.  I  want  to  help  you." 

234 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

She  shook  her  head  despondently. 

"I  don't  want  any  help." 

"I  want  to  do  what  I  can,"  he  went  on.  "It's  not 
necessary  for  you  to  go  to  prison.  You  have  some- 
thing to  offer  the  government  in  exchange  for  clem- 
ency. If  your  husband  left  any  plates,  or  any 
formula,  or  any  record  of  his  method,  it  will  save 
you  if  you  can  turn  them  up." 

"I  won't  tell  you  a  thing!"  she  said,  determinedly. 

Kayton  looked  at  her  fixedly.  If  that  was  her 
attitude,  he  must  try  different  tactics.  Changing 
his  manner,  he  said  firmly: 

"Fm  not  asking  you — I'm  telling  you.  If  you 
refuse  to  give  up  those  plates,  the  government  will 
put  you  where  you  can't  use  them." 

"I  don't  care.  I  don't  care  what  you  do!"  she 
cried,  defiantly. 

"If  there  aren't  any  plates,  haven't  you  any 
records  of  his  process  that  you  could  give  up  to  save 
yourself?" 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  his  process,  and 
I  wish  to  God  he'd  never  known  anything  about 
it!" 

"If  that's  true,  there's  no  need  of  your  going  to 
prison  as  a  counterfeiter.  You're  practically  inno- 
cent. You  can  go  on  the  stand  as  State's  witness, 
and  by  your  testimony  that  these  other  men  know 
nothing  of  your  husband's  process  you  can  save 
them  from  long  terms. 

She  nodded  wearily. 

"Yes,  yes,  I  can  do  that." 

Having  turned  the  conversation  round  to  the 
point  where  he  wanted  it,  he  said  quickly: 

235 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"You  can  do  exactly  the  same  thing  in  the  Argyle 
case." 

Sensing  a  trap,  she  rose  to  her  feet  and  clutched 
wildly  at  the  table  with  her  two  hands.  Excitedly 
she  cried: 

"Why  do  you  say  that?  Why  do  you  pretend  I 
know  anything  about  that?" 

The  detective  also  rose.  Bending  forward  and 
fixing  her  with  his  steady  gaze,  he  said,  slowly  and 
emphatically: 

"Because,  after  Mr.  Argyle  fell,  dragging  off  the 
table-cloth,  you  were  leaning  forward — holding  on  to 
the  table  with  both  hands,  as  you  are  doing  now." 

Realizing  the  full  significance  of  his  words,  she 
drew  back  in  terror. 

"What!"  she  exclaimed. 

Quickly  he  drew  the  hand-prints  from  the  drawer. 

"These  are  the  finger-marks  you  left  on  the  table 
that  night.  These  are  identical  with  the  ones  you 
left  here  on  my  blotter.  This  is  jury  proof  of  com- 
plicity— ' 

Overcome  at  this  revelation,  she  fell  back  gasping. 
Hoarsely  she  exclaimed: 

"I  had  nothing  to  do  with  it — nothing!" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  he  retorted: 

"To  prove  that  you  will  have  to  confess  who  did." 

Bounding  forward  like  some  infuriated  animal 
trapped  into  an  admission,  she  cried,  wildly: 

"You  can  do  what  you  like!  I  don't  care!  I  don't 
care!  It  doesn't  matter!" 

"It  matters  to  an  innocent  girl,"  he  replied,  quietly. 
"Your  daughter's  life  is  ruined  unless  we  can  clear 
her  from  this  charge  of  murder." 

236 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

Leaning  forward  over  his  desk,  she  cried,  in  a 
hysterical  manner: 

"Her  life's  ruined  if  you  drag  me  into  this  case! 
You  can't — you  can't  do  it  without  uncovering 
everything — everything!  You  won't  do  it!  If  you 
love  her  you  can't  do  it!  Would  you  marry  the 
daughter  of  a  woman  disgraced?" 

For  a  moment  Kayton  hesitated,  but  only  for  a 
moment.  Raising  his  head,  he  replied,  emphatically : 

"I'd  marry  your  daughter  out  of  hell  if  she'd  come 

i " 
to  me! 

Almost  hysterical,  Mrs.  Martin  sobbed: 

"And  if  she's  anything  like  her  mother  she'd  go  to 
hell  for  you — if  she  loved  you!" 

"And  yet  you  refuse  to  do  anything  for  her?" 

"I  don't  want  her  to  know  me;  I  don't  want  to 
know  her.  I'm  dead  as  far  as  she  is  concerned." 

"If  you  go  on  the  stand  as  State's  witness,  your 
past  can  be  absolutely  protected.  Your  daughter 
need  never  know." 

"You  don't  need  me  to  clear  her!  You  know  she 
didn't  do  it.  You  know  it  was  some  one  else.  Leave 
me  alone!  Leave  me  alone!  Find  him  yourself!" 

"Who?     Hurley?"  asked  the  detective,  quietly. 

He  watched  her  narrowly  to  judge  of  the  effect  of 
the  name,  but  she  remained  impassive.  Shaking  her 
head,  she  said: 

'.   "I  didn't  say  it.     I  didn't  say  it.     I  haven't  told 
you  a  thing." 

At  that  moment  Joe  entered  from  the  outer  office. 
Kayton  looked  up  quickly: 

"Is  she  here?" 

"Yes,  gov'nor." 

237 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"Bring  her  in." 

The  assistant  went  out,  and  Mrs.  Martin  turned  to 
the  detective.  Supplicatingly  she  cried: 

"Who  is  it?  Mary?  Oh,  let  me  out  of  here!  I 
don't  want  to  see  her!  I  won't  stay  here!" 

Before  he  could  reply  the  door  opened  and  Mary 
appeared.  She  had  heard  Mrs.  Martin's  appeal,  and 
the  grieved  accents  of  the  woman's  voice  had  gone 
right  to  the  young  girl's  heart.  Sympathetically  she 
said: 

"Please  don't  go  yet.  I  wanted  to  see  you  again. 
I'm  so  sorry." 

Mrs.  Martin  turned  away.  Shaking  her  head,  she 
said,  bitterly: 

"No,  no!     I  don't  want  any  sympathy.     I — " 

Kayton  spoke  up. 

"Miss  Masuret,  I'm  trying  to  persuade  Mrs. 
Martin  to  tell  me  who  killed  Mr.  Argyle — to  clear 
you." 

"He  knows  —  he  knows!"  cried  Mrs.  Martin, 
wildly. 

"Yes,  I  know.  But  I  can't  prove  it.  I  can't  clear 
her,  and  you  can." 

The  young  girl  took  the  older  woman's  hand. 

"Why  won't  you?    To  help  us?" 

Shrinking  from  the  contact,  Mrs.  Martin  cried, 
hysterically : 

"No,  no!  He  trapped  me  into  betraying  them  all 
— through  you!  I've  lost  everything  through  you— 
all  I  had!  I  hadn't  anything  but  him.  They've 
killed  him — they've  killed  him — they've  killed  me! 
I  don't  care  what  happens  now.  I  won't  do  anything 
for  any  of  you — I  won't — I  won't — I  won't!" 

238 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

Looking  back  and  making  a  last  gesture  of  defiance, 
she  turned  and  left  the  office. 

The  door  had  not  yet  closed  behind  her  before 
Kayton  sprang  to  the 'phone  and  gave  the  command: 

"Leishman,  hold  Mrs.  Martin." 

Mary  sighed  as  he  laid  down  the  receiver. 

"Oh,  poor  woman!  I  wish  I  could  do  something 
for  her!" 

Kayton  smiled. 

"Don't  worry.     She'll  be  all  right." 

"You  won't  send  her  to  prison?" 

"No,  no;  I'm  only  trying  to  get  a  statement  from 
her  to  clear  the  case  up.  We  must  have  it  to  prove 
her  innocence  and  yours." 

"I  wish  I  could  help  her!" 

The  telephone-bell  rang.  Kayton  picked  up  the 
receiver.  After  listening  he  said:  "Oh,  tell  him  to 
come  right  in."  Turning  to  Mary,  he  smiled  and 
said:  "It's  Bruce." 

The  office  door  was  pushed  open,  and  Bruce  Argyle 
entered  hurriedly,  his  face  radiant.  The  news  of  the 
morning's  papers  had  at  last  given  him  a  clue  to 
Mary's  whereabouts.  Her  sudden  disappearance  and 
the  air  of  mystery  surrounding  it  had  worried  him 
to  distraction  and  given  rise  to  all  kinds  of  rumors, 
but  his  own  confidence  had  never  failed.  He  and 
Nan  were  sure  that  it  was  for  the  best,  whatever 
she  had  done.  Coming  forward,  arms  extended,  he 
cried : 

"Oh,  Mary!" 

Falling  in  his  embrace  just  as  a  sister  would,  all 
she  could  say  was: 

"Bruce!" 

239 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

The  youth  dashed  back  to  the  door  to  tell  the  glad 
news  to  others  who  were  with  him. 

"Nan — Nan — Mrs.  Wyatt — she's  here!" 

The  next  instant  in  rushed  Nan,  followed  by  Mrs. 
Wyatt.  All  fell  round  the  young  girl's  neck  and 
talked  excitedly.  Nan,  overjoyed,  was  almost  in 
tears.  Hysterically  she  cried: 

"Mary!  Where  have  you  been?  How  could  you 
do  it?  What  did  you  do  it  for?" 

"Please  don't  mind.  I  had  to  —  to  help  Mr. 
Kayton." 

Bruce  stared.     In  an  injured  tone  he  exclaimed: 

"Has  Kayton  known  all  the  time?  Well,  I  think 
I've  been  pretty  badly  treated." 

The  detective,  after  several  attempts  to  break  in, 
stepped  forward: 

"I'm  sorry  to  interrupt  this  little  family  party, 
but  I'll  have  to  use  this  office  for  business.  There's 
a  waiting-room  out  there."  Urging  them  toward 
the  door,  he  added:  "Bruce,  I  want  to  see  you  again 
before  you're  finally  discharged." 

Turning  round,  the  youth  said,  reproachfully: 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  where  she  was?  Did 
you  think  I  couldn't  keep  my  mouth  shut?" 

Kayton  laughed.  Going  back  to  the  desk,  he 
said: 

"I  didn't  want  you  to  keep  it  shut.  I  wanted  you 
to  holler." 

"Well,  I  hollered,  all  right." 

"You  did.     I  heard  you." 

Mary  still  stood  there  watching  him.  Timidly 
she  asked: 

"Do  you  mind  if  I  go  and  talk  to  Mrs,  Martin?" 
240 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

He  smiled. 

"I'd  like  you  to  do  anything  you  can  for  Mrs. 
Martin." 

He  opened  the  door  for  her,  and  she  passed  out. 
He  watched  her  go,  and  then  returned  to  his  desk 
with  a  sigh.  What  a  girl!  Every  day  he  liked  her 
better.  If  he  was  only  sure  she  cared  for  him  he 
would  hesitate  no  longer.  His  thoughts  were  more 
full  of  her  than  of  his  work  when  suddenly  Leishman 
entered. 

"Hurley's  here!"  he  said,  hastily. 

Kayton  started.  The  critical  moment  had  ar- 
rived. 

"Have  you  got  that  confession  rigged  up?"  he 
asked. 

The  manager  held  out  a  paper. 

"Here  it  is,  sir." 

Kayton  glanced  it  over  and  smiled. 

"That  looks  convincing.  This  is  where  we  pull 
a  woman  out  of  the  water  when  she's  determined 
to  drown;  but  I  think  it's  the  man  who  will  go 
under  this  time.  Send  him  in,  and  the  instant  I 
touch  this  button  send  in  Mrs.  Martin." 

The  manager  went  to  the  door  and  spoke  to  some 
one  waiting  in  the  hall  outside. 

"Come  in,  Mr.  Hurley." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

HTHE  lawyer  entered  hurriedly,  his  furtive,  uneasy 
A    glance  quickly  scanning  the  detective's  face,  as 
if  trying  to  guess  what  was  in  his  mind. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Kayton,"  he  smiled,  with 
cheerfulness  that  was  obviously  forced. 

Kayton  lit  a  cigar. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Hurley." 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  recent  turn  which 
events  had  taken  were  calculated  to  cause  him  con- 
siderable anxiety,  the  attorney's  manner  was  out- 
wardly calm  and  as  full  of  self-assurance  as  ever; 
but  it  did  not  escape  the  detective's  close  scrutiny 
that  his  mouth  twitched  nervously.  Appearing  to 
notice  nothing,  he  said,  lightly: 

"How  are  you?" 

Reluctantly  the  attorney  advanced  toward  the 
desk. 

"Well,  I'm  very  busy  this  morning,  Mr.  Kayton, 
but  I  want  to  oblige  you.  What  is  the  clue?" 

Pretending  to  be  busy  with  his  papers,  Kayton 
did  not  answer  the  question  at  once.  The  longer 
he  could  keep  his  caller  in  suspense,  the  more  nervous 
he  would  get,  the  better  he  could  keep  him  under 
observation.  All  at  once,  when  he  judged  the  mo- 
ment right,  the  detective  looked  up  and  said, 
quickly: 

242 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"It's  a  little  better  than  a  clue.  I  think  we've 
got  the  man  who  killed  Argyle." 

Involuntarily  the  lawyer  fell  back  a  few  steps. 
All  the  color  receded  from  his  usually  ruddy  face, 
leaving  him  ghastly  pale. 

"Well — well — "  he  stammered. 

Coolly  Kayton  extended  to  him  the  box  of  cigars. 

"Have  a  cigar?"  he  said,  amiably. 

With  trembling  fingers  the  lawyer  took  one. 

"Thanks!"  he  mumbled. 

Kayton  waved  him  to  a  seat. 

"Sit  down,"  he  said. 

But  his  visitor  was  too  much  perturbed  to  heed 
the  invitation.  Nervously  he  said: 

"Who  is  it?     Who  is  it?" 

Again  the  detective  waved  him  to  a  seat.  Imitat- 
ing the  lawyer's  mannerism  of  speech,  he  said: 

"I'll  tell  you  about  that.     Sit  down." 

Paler  and  more  uneasy  every  minute,  the  attorney 
took  a  chair.  There  was  a  slight  pause,  and  then 
Kayton,  in  the  most  matter-of-fact  way,  went  on: 

"Mr.  Hurley,  when  did  it  first  occur  to  you  that 
Mr.  Argyle's  mind  was  affected?" 

For  a  moment  the  lawyer  made  no  reply,  but 
stared  at  his  interlocutor,  the  pallor  of  his  face  in- 
creasing every  moment.  With  a  painfully  forced 
smile  he  faltered: 

"I  don't  get  you." 

"You  will,"  said  the  detective,  calmly.  "You 
don't  think  that  you  could  interest  a  man  in  his 
position — a  millionaire — in  a  scheme  for  counter- 
feiting if  he  were  in  his  right  mind  ?" 

The  lawyer  started  violently. 
243 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  demanded,  hoarsely. 

Kayton  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Flecking  the  ash 
off  his  cigar,  he  asked,  carelessly: 

"Mr.  Hurley,  did  you  ever  try  a  case?" 

His  visitor  smiled  awkwardly. 

"You  forget  that  I'm  a  lawyer." 

"I  don't  forget  it;  I  don't  believe  it." 

"What  are  you  driving  at?" 

Suddenly  changing  the  subject,  Kayton  asked: 

"Mr.  Hurley,  did  you  ever  see  a  detectaphone ?" 

The  visitor  opened  his  eyes. 

"A  what?" 

Kayton  opened  a  drawer,  and,  taking  out  the  deli- 
cate little  instrument,  he  held  it  up  for  inspection. 

"A  detectaphone.  Don't  be  afraid.  It  won't 
bite  you.  It  doesn't  do  anything  but  listen;  and 
it's  got  the  longest  ears — it  makes  a  sucker  look  like 
a  jackass.  As  you  saw  in  the  morning  papers  be- 
fore you  packed  your  bag,  we  arrested  a  gang  of 
counterfeiters  last  night,  after  we  had  been  listening 
to  them  for  some  time  with  our  little  detectaphone. 
Interesting  conversations,  too,  Hurley.  They  say 
listeners  never  hear  any  good  of  themselves.  Let 
me  read  you  what  you  said  about  me:  ' Never-Sleep 
Kayton!  Isn't  he  wonderful,  this  great  detective?  Oh, 
it's  all  advertising!  Eh,  Kreisler?  He's  a  pinhead.' 
"Sh!'  Hurley,  not  so  loud!'" 

With  a  muttered  exclamation,  the  lawyer  sprang 
to  his  feet.  Angrily,  he  exclaimed: 

"  Do  you  think  you  can  bluff  me  with  a  framed-up 
thing  like  that?" 

Kayton  was  trying  hard  to  keep  his  temper,  but 
the  man's  arrogance  irritated  him. 

244 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"Let  me  finish!"  he  went  on.  "We  pinched  the 
whole  bunch,  and  I  advised  Mrs.  Martin  to  do  what 
she  could  for  herself  by  making  a  complete  state- 
ment of  the  facts  as  she  knew  them,  and  in  her  con- 
fession here  she  not  only  implicates  you  with  these 
counterfeiters,  but  she  also  charges  you  with  the 
murder  of  John  Argyle!" 

His  face  livid,  the  lawyer  turned  to  leave  the  room. 

Kayton  peremptorily  called  him  back.  Holding 
out  a  document,  the  detective  asked: 

"Do  you  know  that  signature?" 

Hurley  glanced  at  it  hastily  and  shook  his  head. 

"I  tell  you  it's  a  fake — to  protect  herself." 

The  detective  touched  a  button.  Quietly  he 
went  on: 

"Then  you  mean  to  say  that  Mrs.  Martin  is  re- 
sponsible for  the  death  of  John  Argyle?" 

As  he  spoke  the  door  opened  and  Mrs.  Martin 
entered.  Kayton  turned  to  her: 

"Mrs.  Martin,  Mr.  Hurley  has  just  stated  that 
it  was  you  who  killed  John  Argyle." 

The  woman's  pale  face  flushed  with  indignation. 
Advancing  on  the  lawyer,  brandishing  her  fists,  she 
exclaimed,  hotly: 

"What!  You!  you!  you!"  Turning  to  Kay- 
ton, she  almost  screamed:  "It's  a  lie!  He  killed 
him!" 

Deathly  white,  his  features  haggard,  his  eyes 
starting  with  ill-concealed  terror,  the  lawyer  faltered : 

"I've  been  trying  to  protect  her.  That's  the  way 
I've  got  involved  in  this.  She  killed  him!  I'll  sign 
a  statement." 

Turning  away  with  a  contemptuous  shrug  of  her 
245 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

shoulders,  Mrs.  Martin  made  no  further  attempt  to 
protect  herself.  Sure  that  the  detective  was  con- 
vinced of  her  innocence  and  knew  who  the  assassin 
was,  she  dropped  into  a  chair  and  sat  motionless, 
her  head  bowed. 

Kayton,  his  arms  folded,  stood  gazing  sternly  at 
the  wretched  man,  who  was  trying  desperately  to 
save  himself  by  fixing  guilt  on  a  woman.  Con- 
temptuously, he  exclaimed : 

"Hurley,  you  can  go  to  hell  your  own  way.  If 
you  haven't  sense  enough  to  see  that  it's  better  to 
make  a  clean  breast  of  it  and  stand  for  a  charge  of 
manslaughter,  you  can  go  to  the  chair  as  a  counter- 
feiting crook  that  tried  to  blackmail  an  old  man 
and  murdered  him  when  he  rounded  on  you.  You 
gave  stuff  to  the  papers  to  throw  suspicion  on  the 
girl  and  the  boy.  You  came  nosing  around  here 
trying  to  tip  off  my  hand,  and  the  minute  you  saw 
yourself  caught  you  turned  on  a  woman  and  tried 
to  sell  her  out.  You're  under  arrest,  and  the  charge 
is  murder  in  the  first  degree!" 

Bounding  forward,  his  pallid  face  distorted  with 
terror,  his  hands  clutching  convulsively  the  top  of 
the  desk,  the  lawyer  cried: 

"Just  a  minute,  Mr.  Kayton!" 

Quick  as  a  flash  the  detective  produced  a  pair  of 
handcuffs  and  snapped  them  on  his  wrists. 

"You're  just  a  minute  too  late!" 

He  pushed  a  button  three  times,  and  Joe  hurried 
in,  followed  closely  by  Nash  and  Cortwright. 

Realizing  that  the  end  had  come,  and  that  noth- 
ing further  was  to  be  gained  by  lying,  the  lawyer 
cried : 

246 


GOOD-BY,"    SHE     WENT     ON,     HER     VOICE 
BROKEN      BY     WEEPING 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"Before  God,  Kay  ton,  I  tell  you  it  was  an  acci- 
dent! He'd  gone  into  this  counterfeiting.  Then 
suddenly  he  shifted  and  threatened  to  show  me  up. 
I  took  her  there  to  try  and  use  her  influence  to  fix 
it.  As  soon  as  he  saw  her  he  pulled  a  gun  and 
tried  to  shoot  her.  I  knocked  it  out  of  his  hands. 
He  sprang  on  me  and  tried  to  strangle  me.  I  didn't 
want  to  hurt  him;  I  just  beat  him  off,  trying  to  de- 
fend myself,  and  the  first  thing  we  knew  he  was 
dead  on  our  hands." 

The  detective  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Coldly  he 
said: 

"I  don't  want  to  hear  your  troubles.  Tell  them 
to  the  district  attorney.  Boys,  take  this  man 
away!" 

Nash  and  Cortwright  seized  hold  of  the  lawyer 
and  dragged  him  toward  the  door  leading  to  the 
outer  office.  Resisting  with  all  his  strength,  the 
lawyer  cried: 

"Wait  a  minute,  boys!    Wait  a  minute!" 

Joe  gave  him  a  poke  in  the  ribs.  Scornfully  he 
exclaimed : 

"Come  on,  you  big  stiff.     Take  your  medicine." 

Still  struggling,  raving,  and  cursing,  Mr.  Hurley 
was  gradually  forced  to  the  door.  As  they  dragged 
him  along  he  shrieked: 

"Take  your  hands  off  me,  damn  you!  You  can't 
do  it!  Where  are  your  papers?  I  want  a  lawyer! 
Kayton,  give  me  a  chance.  I  can  square  it  with 
you.  How  much  do  you  want?" 

"Shut  up!"  said  the  detective,  sharply. 

The  unhappy  man  cast  an  appealing  glance  round. 
Wildly  he  cried : 

247 


THE    ARGYLE    CASE 

"My  God,  it's  my  life!     It's  the  end  of  it!" 

That  was  the  last  they  heard.  The  next  instant 
they  had  pulled  him  through  the  door,  which  closed 
behind  him. 

Joe  threw  up  his  hands  in  comic  horror. 

"Gee,  but  he's  got  a  yellow  streak  in  him!" 

Kayton  laughed.     Facetiously  he  said: 

"After  they've  had  him  in  the  electric  chair 
they'll  have  to  fumigate  it!" 

The  assistant  went  out,  and  the  detective  pressed 
a  button  which  brought  Leishman  in.  Kayton 
pointed  to  the  visitor.  Significantly,  he  said: 

"Wait  outside,  Leishman.     Get  your  hat." 

"Yes,  gov'nor." 

The  detective  rose  and  approached  Mrs.  Martin. 
Kindly  he  said: 

"Mrs.  Martin,  would  you  like  to  go  and  take  care 
of  Dr.  Kreisler?" 

The  woman  lifted  her  pale,  tear-stained  face 
and  gazed  at  the  detective  in  open-eyed  astonish- 
ment. 

"Oh  yes,  yes — if  I  only  could!"  she  cried,  clasp- 
ing her  hands. 

He  waved  his  hand  in  the  direction  of  the  door. 

"You  may — go." 

"I  may?"  she  cried,  the  tears  springing  to  her 
eyes  from  joy. 

He  nodded. 

"Yes;  I'll  send  rm>  manager  with  you.  I'll  come 
over  as  soon  as  I  can  and  arrange  so  that  you'll 
be  detained  only  as  a  witness.  You  think  I've 
treated  you  brutally.  I  have,  but  it  was  the  only 
way  to  save  you." 

248 


THE   ARGYLE   CASE 

Mrs.  Martin  staggered  to  her  feet.  Weakly  she 
stammered : 

"If  I  could  feel  anything  at  all  I'd  thank  you, 
but  I'm  dead  here — dead — dead." 

Helplessly  she  beat  her  bosom,  as  if  trying  to  ex- 
press all  she  felt,  and  her  lips  moved  as  if  she  wished 
to  tell  him  something;  but  before  she  could  speak 
the  office  door  opened,  and  Mary  entered.  Kayton 
went  quickly  to  the  young  girl.  Quietly  he  said: 

"Miss  Masuret,  I  thought  you  would  like  to  say 
good-by  to  Mrs.  Martin." 

Mary  looked  sympathetically  at  the  sad,  bowed 
figure  standing  at  the  other  side  of  the  room.  Ad- 
vancing quickly  and  taking  the  visitor's  hand,  she 
said: 

"Oh,  sha'n't  I  see  you  again?" 

Mrs.  Martin  shook  her  head  sadly.  Moving 
slightly  away  from  the  girl's  embrace  and  averting 
her  face,  she  murmured : 

"No." 

"Good-by,"  said  Mary,  holding  out  her  hand. 

Turning  quickly  round,  Mrs.  Martin  eagerly 
grasped  it.  Her  body  shaken  by  sobs,  the  tears 
rolling  down  her  cheeks,  she  said,  with  much  emotion: 

"Good-by!"  Drawing  the  young  girl  closer,  she 
went  on,  her  voice  broken  by  weeping:  "You're 
where  I  was  twenty  years  ago.  You  have  just  the 
same  possibilities  for  love  and  self-sacrifice."  Point- 
ing to  Kayton,  she  went  on:  "This  man  loves  you. 
He's  waiting  to  take  your  life  and  make  it  what  he 
wants  it  to  be.  Like  me,  you'll  give  everything." 

She  said  no  more,  but  clasped  her  daughter's  hand 
tightly  in  both  of  hers.  Pressing  it  to  her  breast  and 

249 


THE   ARGYLE    CASE 

raising  it  to  her  lips,  she  gazed  at  her  long  and  ear- 
nestly. It  was  their  last  farewell.  Shaking  her 
head  sadly,  she  murmured: 

"Well,  what  matter?     It  must  be." 

Reluctantly  releasing  the  young  girl,  she  turned 
away  and  slowly  left  the  office.  Mary,  the  tears 
rolling  down  her  cheeks,  turned  to  Kayton,  who 
sprang  forward  eagerly.  Before  he  could  reach  her 
the  telephone  rang.  Impatiently  taking  up  the  re- 
ceiver, he  said: 

"Well,  what  is  it?  No;  I'm  not  going  to  Chicago. 
I've  got  an  urgent  case  here." 

Mary  looked  up  anxiously. 

"An  urgent  case?"  she  asked. 

"Yes — ours,"  he  smiled.  Taking  her  gently  in 
his  arms,  he  whispered:  "Mary,  our  joint  detective 
work  is  ended.  We  are  entitled  to  some  rest  and 
happiness  now.  Will  you  be  my  wife?" 

"Yes,"  she  murmured,  through  her  tears. 


THE    END 


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